


‘til i saw your face, now i can’t erase

by becki



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor whump, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Issues, Memory Loss, Poor Connor, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Whump, and hank too, but no i won’t stop hurting connor and making him suffer, i might sprinkle in some fluff here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becki/pseuds/becki
Summary: Connor brings his eyes back to the man still slumped against the brick wall and clearly struggling to move, yet grunting in pain every time he tries to inch away from the wall. Connor narrows his eyes, some kind of strange feeling stirring in his gut. Some kind of understanding, like a ray of light in all the alarms and glitches and utter chaos.….H4nK?....!Error!!Error!...100%.Memory Wipe Complete.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 79
Kudos: 186





	1. error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy i’m starting another multi chapter fic again, just cause this idea was nagging me for some time and i decided that i might as well commit fully to it! 
> 
> hopefully the dbh fandom isn’t dead...yet.
> 
> i’m not ready to say goodbye to my favorite characters :(
> 
> but anyway, i hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> here we go...

If there’s one thing Connor isn’t good at, it’s following orders.

He’s everything else a person on the police force would want in a partner. For starters, he’s inhumanly fast and doesn’t tire nearly as quickly as a human would in a chase. He can scan his surroundings within a few mile radius in seconds flat, pinpointing minute details that the human eye never could. He’s patient under the stress of work and built with an intuitive mind that can figure out possibilities that could be impossible for others to draw as quickly. He’s smart and keen, structured with analysis abilities in his systems to detect lies from miles away. And above it all, he’s nothing short of adaptable.

But able to follow orders?

_ That _ is one of Connor’s flaws.

Hank realized this one little fault of Connor’s during their first investigation together, all the way back in November. He ordered him to stay in the car at the scene of the homicide of Carlos Ortiz, and then he didn’t. He told him to stop tasting the victim's blood at every location, and then he didn’t. He told him  _ countless  _ times to just leave his hungover ass the fuck alone, and then, surprise surprise! He didn’t.

He  _ still  _ doesn’t listen half the time, and they’ve been working together for  _ months  _ now as partners. Connor’s adaptable, sure, but in the listening aspect? Whoever at Cyberlife designed the protocol of his about following orders surely fucked up big time.

So now, as they ride up the street of a suspect's home and slow down to halt on the curb, asphalt crunching under the worn tires, Hank doesn’t get out of the car immediately. Instead, he turns to stare at Connor in the passenger’s seat with a pointed look. The android is quick to notice, and he huffs out an expecting sigh of annoyance as if already prepared for a lecture. It’s almost as if he  _ preconstructed  _ it - Hank knows he has the ability to do something like that or another.

Hank begins his little spiel, words sharp, “Okay Connor, listen to me-“

“Hank, you already told me at the station,” Connor breaths out, cutting him off. Hank even sees him attempt an eye roll - something he’s picked up from Hank himself, he has no doubt. “I won’t leave your side, okay?”

Hank opens his mouth to continue, but Connor cuts him off  _ again _ , dark eyes not wavering from Hank’s gaze. 

“Yes, the suspect is dangerous. Yes, the suspect is out for androids. And no, I won’t chase the suspect because that will separate us,” Connor rattles off as if reading things off an orderly list. Hank wouldn’t put it past him that he actually  _ is  _ reading off a mental list in his mind - a list of all the things Hank talked with him about back in the station when they were ordered by Captain Fowler to check out this place.

Hank sighs, long and heavy, and pulls his eyes away from Connor to gaze out the windshield.

“I’m just...You never listen sometimes,” Hank finally says, his tone soft. He can feel Connor’s burning stare on him but he keeps his eyes lingering out the window, away away away from those too sharp eyes that are always analyzing, always studying. “If this is the guy we’re after, he’s fuckin’  _ dangerous _ , and especially hostile towards androids.” He finally pulls his eyes back to lock with Connor’s; the air tenses around them. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, do you not remember that crime scene of the PL600? The one this guy destroyed?”

Connor’s LED flickers an unsteady yellow, eyes unfocusing, and Hank knows he’s remembering in that android mind of his. Seeing those terrible images from yesterday of the corpse in that old warehouse, slumped against a wooden beam with the light of its LED gone grey and dull. And as much as Hank doesn't want to, he starts to recall it as well, the unwanted graphic images jumping into the front of his memory with the damp, dirty smell of that warehouse flooding his senses as well as if he were standing right before the corpse yet again.

The PL600’s chest fully exposed, his blood-stained white chassis revealed around his whole abdomen where the synthetic skin peeled back away from the open chest.

Sparks and flickering lights within the chest where wires were cut, knotted, destroyed, removed.

His thirium pump ripped clean out, resting in a lifeless heap on the corpe’s lap.

Dirty blond hair, tousled from a clear struggle and matted with his own sickly thirium.

Unfocused blue eyes with the light gone out behind them.

And a pool of blue blood, surrounding the corpse and encasing his resting place in his own thirium.

Hank blinks, brought back to reality just in time to watch Connor’s LED flicker a dangerous red for a brief moment before finally settling back to yellow, and then finally blue. Connor glances away, and now it’s his turn to pointlessly gaze out the windshield and avoid Hank’s stare.

“This guy isn’t someone to mess with, Connor,” Hank begins, tone gruff. He grips one hand on the steering wheel and leans closer to Connor. “Whoever he is, we  _ do  _ know he’s a former Cyberlife employee. And that means he knows his way around androids. He knows  _ exactly  _ their weak points. I mean, what, didn’t he start with the PL600 by messing with his memory or something?”

“He wiped his memory so he wouldn’t know anyone to contact for help, yes,” Connor fills in. His tone is eerily monotone, almost mechanical. Hank watches his LED flicker an unsteady yellow in the window’s reflection. “And then he brought him to an empty warehouse, turned off the functions of his arms and legs, and left him there for his experiments before finally taking out the pump and killing him when he wasn’t of use anymore.”

Hank’s skin goes cold, goosebumps creeping up his skin, and he’s stunned silent for a few moments. All he does is focus on watching Connor’s yellow LED go ‘round, and ‘round, and ‘round in its reflection. After a few seconds, Hank blinks and nods numbly, a harsh tightness curling in on his closing throat.

“Y-yeah,” Hank manages to croak out. “Yeah, exactly.”

Connor brings his eyes back to Hank’s and they lock together, warm brown colliding with cold blue. They simply stare for a few minutes, and then the stone-like expression in Connor’s features breaks, his eyebrows crinkling together and corners of lips turning downturn ever so slightly.

“I know  _ exactly  _ what this man is capable of - I was there with you when we checked out the site of the homicide, Hank. And I know you’re worried,” Connor says, his voice smoothing into something full of sympathy again. It’s gentle, almost soothing in its low tones. “But I’m careful. I’m equipped to know the suspect’s every move before he even decides to make it himself, and I know how to fight back. I’m not like the PL600 - he was designed for domestic tasks, and I’m designed for criminal work. I’ll be okay.”

Hank heaves a heavy sigh, letting his shoulders sag against the back of his car seat and relaxing his tight grip on the steering wheel. “I know, Con. I know that. Just...I don’t want you chasing him or something if it’s the guy we’re after and he starts booking it. We stick together no matter what. If he  _ does  _ run, we get in the car together. And then, we chase him together. Then, we corner him together.”

He pauses, eyes crinkling with a flash of fear, and then points his dejected stare into his lap.

“I’m not losing you, Con. Not to this asshole, whoever he is.”

Connor is silent for a few moments. The air is swollen with an uncomfortable tension, heavy and all-consuming in the tight walls of the car. Hank shifts a little in his work seat, wondering if maybe Connor hadn’t heard him at all or is really just too stubborn to respond to Hank’s plea, but then suddenly there’s an artificial warmth on his shoulder.

Hank looks up, eyes wide.

It’s Connor’s hand, gently resting on Hank’s shoulder. The kind gesture is accompanied by a small smile - the kind that maybe if you didn't know Connor too well, you’d think nothing had changed at all in his expression, but Hank knows. It’s his own little smile, small but certainly there. He sees the little upturn of the corners of his lips, the little crinkle to the edges of his eyes, the sparkle that lights up those mocha irises. And when he speaks, his words are soft. Gentle. Absent of all coolness and stiffness that sometimes tends to linger in his tone.

“I understand, Hank,” he says, and the smile brightens ever-so-slightly. “I won’t chase him, alright? We’ll stick together.”

And now it’s Hank’s turn to smile. His blue eyes light up, and returns the touch on his shoulder with a few reassuring pats overtop Connor’s hand. 

“Thanks, Con,” is all Hank says, and then Connor’s hand falls off his shoulder, returning back to his lap where it was once resting.

“Let’s not waste any more time, shall we?” Connor says dryly, and he rests his hand on the passenger’s side door handle, waiting for Hank to unlock it.

“Yup,” Hank says, equally as dry, unlocking the door and exiting on his side of the car. “Let’s get goin’.”

The September air is on the warmer side today - warm enough that wearing even a lightweight jacket overtop regular clothes would be more of a nuisance rather than a needed extra layer of protection. That being said, Hank’s clothed in only his favorite, though somewhat flashy, orange and blue striped button up t-shirt and tan slacks. Connor’s dressed similarly, wearing his white button up dress shirt, black tie that whips around in the frequent gusts of light wind, and black slacks, having left his Cyberlife issued jacket - the one that he still refuses to throw away regardless of Hank’s pestering about it because “Con, for fuck’s sake, those Cyberlife jackasses don’t get to decide what you wear anymore” - back at the precinct slung over his desk chair.

They approach the house with cautious steps, Hank always one step in front of Connor. The house looks wealthy enough - exactly how you’d expect the home of a Cyberlife employee to look, causing Hank’s nerves to tense even  _ more  _ with the likelihood increasing that this is the man they’re after. The house is large and polished white with a black gate surrounding the building and its yard which is full of freshly-cut luscious green grass, scattered trees, and red and pink flowers planted by the bottom of the trees’ stumps in their flower beds. 

Thankfully, the front gate that leads to a pathway to the front door isn’t one that locks - must just be there to showcase all the money this guy has, Hank assumes - and then he pulls it open when a creak. They walk on the long stoney pathway to the house’s entrance before they finally reach it, lingering by the windowless grandeur double doors. Hank hesitates, his fingers hovering right over the doorbell. Then, instead of ringing it, he turns around to face Connor right behind him.

“Stay on your guard,” Hank says, words gentle. “And stick with me at all times, alright?”

Connor sighs with a breath he doesn’t require. “Hank, please.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just making sure.”

He knows he’s being a  _ little  _ over the top. After all, with all of their other cases, Hank’s never been this way, and Connor always proves himself more than able to handle himself. In fact, Connor always seems to be the one helping Hank out and saving _ his  _ ass, ranging from getting Hank out of dangerous perps’ hands whenever they have him in their grasps to high buildings with ledges that Hank has almost slipped off one to many times, only to be saved by Connor’s sturdy hands.

But this guy is strictly out for androids. That PL600 was one of many killed for the past week, and the thought of Connor meeting the same fate…

Those warm, brown eyes losing the light in them as well…

“Hank?” Connor’s gentle voice rings out, snapping Hank out of his spiraling thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Hank nods his head frantically, ignoring the nauseous pit that made home in his stomach. He looks over to Connor, who’s staring at him with such a worried gaze that Hank’s heart stutters a little. 

“Yeah, kid,” he says, sucking in a breath. “I’m fine.”

At that, Hank finally rings the doorbell. It’s a long, overdramatic sing-song tune sounding of bells and chimes. After a few seconds of silence, Hank hears faint footsteps. At first they’re barely audible, but then they grow louder the closer they approach the door, becoming repetitive thumps.

And then the doors whip open, revealing a young man dressed in a casual plum tee and dark blue jeans. Freckles dot the pale complexion on his round face, and his hair is red with curly ringlets that however in his owlish blue eyes. His thin lips are pursed together as they scan Hank and Connor in his doorway.

He’s an  _ exact  _ match to the description of the PL600 murderer.

And based on Connor’s body tightening up, barely seen in the corner of Hank’s eyes, Connor seems to realize this as well.

“Sir, we’re here to investigate the murder of a PL600 android,” he says. He then gestures to himself as he flashes his badge, and then to Connor now standing right beside him who also shows his badge. “I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson, and this is Detective Connor.” 

The man in the doorway simply stares for a few moments, his eyes darting between Hank and Connor. 

“Uh, I’m sorry,” he says coolly, “but what does that have to do with me? I know nothing of that.”

“The license plate number seen by a witness of the murder firsthand is addressed to a vehicle that is owned by the owner of this address,” Hank responds calmly. “We just have some questions for you.”

The man stands there, his crystal eyes never stopping bouncing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between Hank and Connor, and all Hank can wonder is how this man can keep his eyes dancing like that without getting dizzy and falling over. He doesn't once open his lips to respond. Instead, they remain pursed together as they once did when he first opened the doors, creating a thin line of pale pink overtop his chin.

“Sir?” Hank prods when the man fails to say anything.

And then he’s running.

Hank’s muscles jerk to alert, eyes widening in a surge of pure panic as the man jumps out his doorway and shoves Hank and Connor to the ground with forceful shoves of his hands. The ground of lush grass and dirt smacks against Hank’s head with a thud as he topples over, eyes shutting instinctively. Pain blossoms in waves from the point of impact on his skull and throbs throughout the rest of his head, and when he opens his eyes, the world is locked in a fuzzy haze, images blurry and swimming as if he were suddenly tossed underwater.

He manages to make out Connor’s lean figure as he jumps off the ground, much faster than any human could ever recover after being shoved to the ground. His brown eyes dart between Hank still struggling on the floor and the suspect, now speeding away down the pathway and making his way to the streets with quick steps.

Connor jumps a little in the direction of the suspect, and then his eyes fall back to Hank’s in a moment of hesitation. But all of a sudden, the shocked, hesitant look in his eyes switches to something entirely different. It switches into something full of apologies, full of desperation, full of guilt. His fingers clench by his sides, LED flickering yellow and red in a battle for which color can dominate the ring. And all the while, he stares at Hank with those big brown eyes of his, swollen with something that reads  _ I’m sorry. _

Hank knows that look in his eyes. He knows  _ exactly  _ what Connor is intending on doing, and the realization thuds in his stomach like a heavy ball drop, the nauseous pain of that almost overcoming the hot throb in his head.

“Connor,” he says sharply. “Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you dare fucking chase after-“

But Connor’s legs are already jumping into action, mind made up.

Hank tries to get off the ground and stop him, reaching out one helpless hand to grasp on Connor’s jacket that always flaps in the wind. But then in his daze he realizes that he isn’t even wearing his jacket, there’s nothing at all for Hank to grab, and Hank’s fingers miss Connor’s back as he darts away, footsteps pounding on the ground and thudding in Hank’s ears with painful stabs.

“Fuck!” Hank cries out, regardless of the flood of pain his voice shoots through his ears and into his hammering skull. He puts both hands on the earthly ground and heaves his body up - but it’s slow, so painfully slow, and Connor is already at the gate and rounding the corner in pursuit of the suspect.

Hank finally manages to get up, the world spinning in dizzying circles around him as his feet plant somewhat steadily on the ground. And he knows he should move, he  _ has  _ to move. He  _ has  _ to get to his car and chase them down.

But there’s that knot, that knot in his stomach that twists and pulls and makes anger flood through his body, and all he can do is stand there in a stunned silence as he watches Connor chase after the suspect on the other side of the black gating, farther and farther and farther away.

And all he can see is those eyes, those warm mocha eyes having the life sucked out of them.

Just like the PL600.

Hank blinks, trying to wipe the terrible image away, though to no avail. And as he jumps back into action and begins his painful jog to his car parked on the street, the image burns into his mind, refusing to leave his eyes and leave him  _ alone. _

All he can do is shake his head lightly and bunch up his fists as white hot anger flashes through him, mixing awfully with the nausea crawling up his throat.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor,” he mutters under his heaving breath. “For fuck’s sake.”

Some things about Connor just seem to never change.

**_~~~_ **

He knows Hank didn’t want him to run.

He knows he should’ve stayed put.

But all he could do, with false adrenaline pumping through his plastic veins and swirling within his thirium, was stare wide-eyed between the perp and Hank, mind whirring with conflicting orders and statistics and possibilities and consequences. And through the blinding panic of it all, the only possible thing his mind could drudge up with was that chasing him had the highest probability of capture and success.

He couldn’t just turn the opportunity up.

He  _ couldn’t. _

Guilt swells uncomfortably in his gut as fleeting thoughts of Hank speed through his mind, all mind consuming and sickenly remorse enducinh. They cause him to stumble slightly over his feet on the sidewalk as he chases after the man, losing his footing for a few seconds before quickly jumping back into a fluid rush towards the perp. He blinks profusely, trying to swallow the guilt away for now and focus on his task.

He has to catch him.

He has to.

He has to accomplish his task.

And those simple thoughts of encouragement propel him faster, faster though the sidewalks and crossroads and alleys in the direction of the perp. He’s not right on his heels yet, given his slight hesitation to start chasing him back at the house which gave the perp a big advantage. Still, Connor can see him several yards ahead in his field of view, and he doesn't let him get  _ too  _ far ahead.

He won’t.

He won’t let him get away.

His pounding steps get harder, stronger, faster as he continues the pursuit. He doesn’t tire, though his thirium pump hammers frantically in his chest to flood his arms and legs with the needed thirium to push him on the chase.

He knows the perp will tire soon, though - he’s human.

It’s only a matter of time.

They continue their chase for what feels like hours, though Connor’s internal clock tells him it’s only been a mere ten minutes. Ten minutes of maneuvering crowds of people, jumping over obstacles such as garbage cans and wire fences in the way, speeding around the corners of buildings and alleys, and trying desperately to think of  _ anything  _ else other than the guilt that swallows him whenever he remembers Hank.

_ “We stick together no matter what.” _

Hank’s kind words bite through Connor’s mind, sending his LED into a frantic flicker of red.

_ “I’m not losing you, Con.” _

Connor shakes his head as he continues racing, trying,  _ trying,  _ to wipe the awful guilt away.

He’ll be fine.

It’ll be okay.

He’ll catch him.

And Connor tries only to focus on that. On how with every minute, the distance between Connor and the perp grows closer. 

He’s gaining on him, that’s for sure.

As they round into another long alley between two tall brick buildings, Connor notices something in the far distance - there’s a wire fence. And not just any fence - they’ve cleared enough of those during the chase - but a terribly high one, almost as high as the buildings themselves.

One that can't be jumped over.

The perp seems to notice this as he makes it halfway down the alley. He slows somewhat, hesitating, bringing Connor even closer than before to him. He’s right on the perp’s heels now, almost close enough to touch him if he were to just lean out and-

The perp jumps back into action as he senses Connor right behind him, adrenaline and panic seeming to flood his decision to continue this pointless chase down the alley. He slips out of Connor’s grasp, but he doesn’t stop; he just lunges straight back into the chase. They continue racing down, kicking up dust around them from the dirty ground. The dead end nears in sight, only several yards away, and that’s when Connor hears it, loud and clear and right outside the entrance to the alley.

Police sirens.

_ Must be Hank, _ Connor assumes, though he doesn't dare turn around and confirm his suspicions. All he does is keep his steel eyes trained forward, right on the perp which is slowing ever so slightly with the wire fence now  _ right  _ in front of them.

Connor uses this stunned hesitation to his advantage. In one fluid motion, he wraps his hands around the perps wrists and pins his whole body against the fencing with his hands raised tightly above his head. The fence rattles under the sudden pressure, and the perp’s head smushes painfully against it, creating deep red lines across his face where tough fence meets fragile skin.

“You are charged with the homicide of a PL600 registered as ‘Jason.’ You have the right to remain silent - everything you say can and will be used against you,” Connor says, words sharp and evenly recited.

In the distance, heavy panting and loud footsteps against the dirt ground drone on behind Connor. He whips his head around to see Hank there, hand hovering over his gun in the holster as he rushes up to Connor from the entrance of the alley where Hank’s car waits.

“Connor, for fuck’s sake,” Hank breaths out as he approaches, now several yards from Connor and the perp pressed up against the fence. “I told you not to chase him!”

The grip on the perp’s wrist lightens a bit as Connor’s shoulders drop in shame, relaxing his muscles only for a second. He dips his head, staring with empty eyes at the dirt ground as his LED flickers yellow.

“I...I know,” he says, finally bringing his head up. He meets eyes with Hank who’s only a couple yards away now. “But I-“

A sudden elbow to his neck, right on his voice box, cuts off his words.

**!Warning! Damage to Voice Box** \-  _ chance of repair...calculating...48% _

He’s stunned, his loose grip on the perp suddenly releasing entirely. He glances around to look but there’s another punch to his eyes, and his eyelids flutter shut for a moment at the impact.

**!Warning! Damage to Optical Units** \-  _ chance of repair...calculating...79% _

Two harsh foreign hands find their way wrapping around his wrists, gripping against his skin so hard that Connor can see through his glitching vision that the synthetic skin is peeling away, revealing his stark white chassis on both wrists.

There’s a terrible pressure there, and as Connor struggles to punch the perp and release his grasp, his legs are swept out from under him.

He falls to the ground on his side, limp and unsteady. A shoe kicks him right in the face, and his vision starts to glitch even more than before. Klaxons are buzzing in his ears, and all he can hear amidst it all is Hank’s risen voice a couple yards away. He watches through glitching eyes as Hank holds his gun up to the perp, crying out warnings and strings of curse words. 

And then there’s another gunshot, and Hank’s yells cut off into a yelp of pain as he clutches at his thigh frantically, dropping the gun and teetering to the one brick wall of the alleyway for support.

Connor tries to jump up in sheer panic, but then he’s kicked in the face again, stumbling him back to the ground. His arms are yanked on, pushing him tightly to the ground, and he can’t move no matter how much he struggles. He opens his mouth to speak but all that comes out is a river of unintelligible static.

He can’t do  _ anything,  _ all muscles strained against the immense pressure of the perp leaning his entire weight overtop him and pressing him to the ground. All he can do is stare stare stare at his partner as he struggles to keep his body upright against the brick wall, his eyes wide in shock and skin paling drastically. 

They lock eyes for a split second before Connor is shoved over, rolling him onto his stomach entirely and laying him face down.

All Connor can see is the dirt ground not inches from his face. He can’t roll away, he can’t yell, and he’s stuck staring at the dirty rocks and pebbles and clumps of dirt as Hank’s voice drones on and on, loud and helpless but unable to be distinguished clearly by the alarms blaring in his ears.

Something cuts across his neck. It’s sharp, and Connor can hear as it clears its way through his synthetic skin and reveals the chassis on his neck. There’s the sound of his paneling clicking open, then of wires and cutting, electricity and sparks, klaxon and alarms. They all consum his audio processors, overloading him and surging him with a wild fear.

_ Level of Stress _ _  
_ **^83**

And all he can do, as panic floods through his body, is focus on the flashing words that stream across his glitching vision.

**!Warning! Damage to Neck** \-  _ synthetic skin on #0_necklower1 damaged beyond repair _

**!Notice! Neck Panel Opening** \-  _ lowering voltage power by 30% for safety measures… _

**Initiating Firewalls From Unknown Intrusion...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Firewalls Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**!Warning!** \-  _ wires #0_red34n, #0_blue36h, #0_red98g, and #0_green22d damaged. chance of repair...calculating...26% _

**_!Notice! Neck Port Opening_ ** \-  _ inserting USB #875nhgf54 _

**Initiating Firewalls From Unknown Intrusion...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Firewalls Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**!Notice! Unknown Data entering RK800 #313-248-317-51 systems**

**Initiating Firewalls From Unknown Data...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Firewalls Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**Data #371x7na - Wipe Memory?**

**Y? or N?**

**Selecting N by RK800 #313-248-317-51...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Selection Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**Selecting Y by Unknown Intruder...**

**Preparing Memory Wipe…**

**...0%...**

**…36%...**

**Attempt to Stop Memory Wipe in Progress by RK800 #313-248-317-51...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Memory Wipe Resumed by Unknown Intruder.**

**...67%...**

**...73%...**

Connor blinks, the words flashing in his vision in a sickly red. He turns his heavy head, and his eyes immediately lock with those of an older man slumped down on the ground against a brick wall, clutching tightly at his thigh that is stained a deep red. He’s fumbling with his phone with one hand, though the fumbling stops the moment they make eye contact. There’s panic in those blue eyes, and words are pouring out of his mouth, but Connor can’t hear them over the alarms screaming in his mind.

**...89%...**

Out of the corner of his glitching eyes, he watches as a man with curly red hair dashes away towards the entrance of the alleyway. His footsteps kick up dust, causing Connor to blink profusely to get it out of his optical units, and by the time he’s done blinking, the man is gone.

**...95%...**

Connor brings his eyes back to the man still slumped against the brick wall and clearly struggling to move, yet grunting in pain every time he tries to inch away from the wall. Connor narrows his eyes, some kind of strange feeling stirring in his gut. Some kind of understanding, like a ray of light in all the alarms and glitches and utter chaos.

_ ….H4nK?..... _

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

_ “I’m not losing you, Con.” _

**_!Error!_ **

**_!Error!_ **

**...100%.**

**Memory Wipe Complete.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry connor
> 
> (come say hi on tumblr! i’m beckkii there :D)


	2. out of grasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s the next chapter! honestly, i wanted to post this sooner, but this past week was super hectic and i didn’t get a chance to write even when i was in the mood to do so. but it’s here now!
> 
> also, so far i have the story set for only 6 chapters (and i know i can reach the conclusion in that time), but i’m considering making it longer. we’ll see what i can come up with! but for now, the least amount of chapters will be 6
> 
> one last thing: happy (late) 2nd anniversary d:bh!! :)

Hank has never liked hospitals.

From the sheer bright lights, the sickly smell of cleaning bleach doused over every surface, the beeps and hurried footsteps echoing through the halls, the feeling of dread around every corner and new room - it all brings knots to twist in Hank’s guts, shuddering his nerves and paling his skin and desiring him to be anywhere else but  _ there _ .

So having to spend the past four days in not one, but  _ two  _ different hospitals, is more than Hank’s fill for a lifetime.

Granted, spending only three out of those four days treating his gunshot wound at the first hospital is very lucky, all things considered. All the nurses and doctors that were treating him said as such, explaining with awe and wonder in their tones how if the bullet wound landed only a mere few inches to the right on his thigh, it would’ve tore some serious ligaments and muscles, making a much harder recovery for a man Hank’s age or  _ anyone _ regardless of age. Instead, the gunshot and it’s so-called lucky positioning required only a clean removal of the bullet itself and treatment at the site of entrance on his lower thigh - of course, he also had to go through a blood transfusion due to the blood loss, but other than all  _ that _ , there was nothing more to it. The only following side effects would be some expected soreness for some time as the wound heals.

Despite all that, despite all the luck that everyone was raving about with cheery smiles and light-hearted laughs, Hank couldn’t help but feel nothing but dread in his time at the hospital, settling in his core like a dark, nauseating pit.

Because there was - and still is - no news of Connor and his condition.

Chris, Fowler, Ben,  _ everyone  _ who came by to visit Hank in the hospital - they had no clue what Connor’s condition actually was. All they knew was that he is currently being treated at New Jericho where an android-specific hospital is set up. He was sent there from the site of the incident, and that was that. Since then, there’s been nothing sent to the D.P.D. - no news about his conditions, no updates about further repairs, nothing.

“If something went wrong with his repairs there, we’d be the first to know, Hank,” Fowler had said when he first visited Hank in the hospital. Hank can still remember his rare smile on his wrinkled face, the comforting warmth of his hand as he rested it on Hank’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. Connor’s one tough son of a bitch, just like you.”

_ Still. _

Everything felt - and still feels - so  _ wrong _ . Every time Hank shut his eyes, tried to get some sleep in that fucking hospital bed that creaked with every little movement, all he could see was the way that asshole had kicked Connor to the ground, grabbing him in such a tight hold that left no easy escape. See the inhuman sparks crackling out his open neck panel, hear the pained static pouring from his mouth in a desperate attempt to shout out for help. See the thirirm dripping down his neck in gushes and streams as the bastard fiddled inside and did who  _ knows  _ what, stopping only the second he noticed Hank calling for backup and deciding then to rush away. Remember the way Connor went limp to the ground, eyes slipped shut, hair tousled, skin flickering away to reveal his chassis at a few scuffs on his face, and LED flashing a harsh red so rapidly that it became a blur to Hank’s dizzying eyes.

And then Connor was dragged away like a lifeless doll, hefted up in the arms of some android medics and taken away to New Jericho’s android hospital. There were sirens in his ears, pounding footsteps and familiar voices from the D.P.D, but all Hank could focus on was Connor in a medic’s arms before the blood loss from his bullet wound finally took its toll on Hank, knocking him out against that brick wall without even getting a chance to see the vehicle take Connor away.

And all he’s left with is the remembrance of those dark brown eyes, staring at Hank with desperation and panic and a wild fear as the perp dug his fingers into Connor’s neck and then ran away before the android went limp on the ground.

Now, Hank shakes his head at the memory, heaving a sigh and dropping his heavy head on his collarbone. He tries to wipe away the memory by tracing the familiar numbers on Connor’s Cyberlife-issued jacket that droops in Hank’s tight grasp. Chris from the D.P.D. grabbed the jacket Connor left there at his desk and then brought it to Hank in the hospital, and now Hank holds onto it like his life depends on it with tight, shaky fingers.

It once was ironed and clean - Connor spends almost every other night cleaning and ironing the damn thing - but Hank’s grip on it for the past few hours waiting in the android hospital surely did not help matters. It’s now crinkled, and sweat stains a few spots where Hank’s palms meet the rough material of the jacket. Hank will probably offer to clean it later when they go home together.

_ If _ they go home together.

_ Fuck. _

Trying to forget everything isn’t working too well. 

Because now, sitting in the  _ second  _ hospital for the week - the android hospital wing of New Jericho - he just can't erase the sight of those helpless eyes from his vision, the way blood splattered from Connor’s neck in streams, the way Connor looked at Hank with fear smeared across his features. The memory is burned into his mind, taunting him as he waits.

Waits for Markus to finally return with some news about Connor’s condition.

Back in the car on the way to New Jericho after finally being released from the hospital for his bullet wound, Hank had called Markus to meet him in the android hospital’s waiting room. Markus knew, even if the android nurses here weren’t telling Hank, how Connor was doing, at least to some extent given his role as the leader of the androids. Even better, he wasn’t too much of a trouble for Hank to call him and get a hold of him - the guy technically has a cellphone connected to his brain, for fuck’s sake, and he knows Hank pretty well given his relation to Connor. While Hank isn’t acquainted with pretty much any other Jericho leader, he  _ is  _ familiar with Markus at the very least.

So now he waits for Markus to meet him.

Hank grumbles, letting his eyes close in exhaustion. It’s been at least an hour of waiting. An hour of tracing tile lines on the floor, of rereading Connor’s model and serial number plastered on his jacket to clear his mind, of watching various people come and go through the waiting room with their androids who came here for repairs, of trying to ignore the dull pain in his thigh, of trying to think positive.

Think of Connor coming home today, completely repaired, smiling lightly with those warm eyes that always glimmer when he’s truly happy and that dumb little lopsided grin of his decorating his lips. Think of Sumo - who Fowler has been taking care of while Hank’s been in the hospital - racing towards Connor, who will then rub his hands all into the old dog’s fur and indulge in his needs for love and attention from the android.

...Something about that doesn’t seem too likely.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank picks his head up at a familiar voice that echoes throughout the now-empty waiting room. He glances up, eyes immediately landing on a familiar figure walking in smooth strides in Hank’s direction.

It’s Markus.

He looks the exact same as the last time he saw him a few months ago when he came by Hank’s house to visit with Connor. Blue and green mismatched irises, sharp jaw, fierce eyebrows, determined look on his face. His black tee clings tightly to his body, framing his toned chest and arms. His strides are strong, purposeful, not one step out of place as he maneuvers around the empty chairs and tables that litter the waiting room.

And as much as Hank would never admit it to anyone, Markus  _ is  _ pretty intimidating. Even to him.

Maybe that’s what makes him a good leader to Jericho. Hell if Hank knows.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant,” Markus says, his rigid features softening into something more approachable. He offers out a hand to shake as he continues, “It’s a shame - I wish I could’ve seen you again under better circumstances.”

Hank shrugs, though his shoulders feel heavy. Drained. Like a burden is holding them down. He takes the offered hand, saying, “Yeah, me too.”

They release their firm grasp, and the air becomes heavy with the unsaid. Thick tension clings around them, making the waiting room suddenly seem much smaller than it was just moments before. The walls close in, fear tugs on Hank’s nerves, and he’s croaking out rushed words of panic before he can compose himself.

“Is he okay?” Hank sputters out. His eyes crinkle in worry, dancing around Markus’ face in search of signs, of reactions, of  _ anything  _ to ease Hank’s shaken nerves. It doesn’t work. Markus’ face is soft, yet reserved, hiding any little tells that Hank could read. It doesn’t help that his LED has been removed; Hank always uses that to read Connor when his expression fails to do so, but it looks like Markus isn’t giving him the chance to use that little mood ring for a tell.

Markus sucks in a breath before answering. “As much as I’ve heard so far, yes, he’s okay.”

All tension drains from Hank’s nerves, relaxing his muscles as he releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He opens his mouth to respond, but Markus cuts him off before he even gets a chance to.

“Now, the nurse working on Connor is running final diagnostics on him to check for any irregularities in his code, and only if  _ that  _ turns up clean, he’ll be good to go. Because thankfully, on the bright side, all damage to his bicomponents and wires were fixable and have been repaired,” Markus says. “But, there’s always a chance something went wrong in his code, so it’s not 100 percent right now.”

Hank stuffs his hands in his pockets, shifting side to side and trying not to wince as he leans his weight on his leg with the bullet wound. “Well, is it...likely that there’ll be any issue?”

Markus is quick to shake his head. “No, it’s not likely. I’d say chances are he’ll be walking out of here today with you. Like I said, all repairs worked smoothly on his body - the nurse just has to make sure his code is alright.”

Hank nods, a small smile of relief working on his lips. He can’t help it - it feels so damn  _ good,  _ after all this stress and pent up worry for the past four days to finally know that Connor’s actually okay.

He just wants to see it for himself now. See those gentle eyes, that little smile, all his damn quirks of fidgeting and playing with that quarter come back to life. He  _ needs _ that - it’s been four days without the kid, and hearing he’s okay from Markus sure is helpful, yeah, but he needs to see him.

It’s been four days too long.

“When can I see him?” Hank asks, slight eagerness spilling into his tone.

“Not too long, I’d say,” Markus begins. “Depends on when the nurse is finished running final diagnostics and when Connor wakes-“

“Markus! There you are.”

Markus snaps his mouth shut at the sound of a female voice. They both whip around in the direction of the voice, and Hank’s eyes immediately land on a girl storming into the waiting room. Her auburn eyes are wide and determined, copper hair in a messy side braid swaying around with each swift step.

“North,” Markus quickly says as she steps up to join the two of them. “Do you need me for something?”

She quickly shakes her head and readjusts her beanie a little farther back on her forehead. “No, I was just wondering where you are.”

All of a sudden, her eyes dart like bullets towards Hank. They narrow, any softness in her eyes towards Markus quickly sharpening into something cold and biting.

Hank, albeit somewhat startled, simply stares back, eyebrows furrowed. Connor has mentioned a girl named North before, and Hank expected to meet her at least some day. Never did he expect her to meet her in an android hospital waiting room with her murderous stare locked into Hank as if he just punched her in the face or something.

“Who’s the human?” she spits out, gaze never wandering from Hank even though she’s clearly addressing Markus.

Markus puts a gentle hand on Hank’s shoulder. “North, this is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. He’s Connor’s partner from the D.P.D.”

North steps closer to Hank, close enough that Hank can now see her mauve eyeshadow brushed atop her eyelids and the mascara that decorates her long eyelashes. Her eyes scan him up and down, and Hank can practically hear the gears whirring in her mind as she probably judges every little detail she can pick up from him and his tousled appearance.

Hank opens his mouth to speak up and introduce himself, but North quickly cuts in first.

“So you’re the human Connor decided to live with, huh?” she says, words awfully dry. “The one he decided to be with instead of living with his people in New Jericho where he belongs?”

“North, please,” Markus cuts in, his hand sliding off Hank’s shoulder.

“What? I’m just saying,” is all she replies with, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one hip. “It’s the truth - you can’t deny it, Markus.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t force Connor to stay with me or anything,” Hank says, deciding that maybe they’re far past a friendly introduction at this point. “It was his choice. I just offered him a place to stay if he wanted it, and that was that.”

North simply stares again, lips pursed tightly together in a thin line. 

“I just don’t understand, that’s all,” she finally says with a shake of her head. “Why he’d want to be with a human instead of his people  _ here _ who understand him and are just like him.”

Markus pipes up, gentleness in his tone, “Well, he made his choice a while ago, and we respect that. Can we not attack his friend right now who’s here out of concern for him and his repairs?”

North keeps her gaze locked on Hank for a little longer, shifting her weight side to side as she bites her lip. It’s almost as if she’s deciding whether or not she wants to kick Hank in the shin or toss him an apologetic smile, but in the end, all she does is tear her gaze away and look at Markus.

“Speaking of repairs, how is he?” she asks.

“All things considered, pretty well,” Markus answers. “The nurse is running a final diagnostic on him, and then he should be good to go.”

“Is he...awake?” Hank butts in, an eyebrow slightly raised.

Markus shakes his head. “No, he’s still in standby. Once the diagnostics are run, he should wake out of it soon enough. But, of course, his systems will decide that on their own terms. We’ll just have to wait for him to wake.”

Hank cocks his head to the side, confusion clear on his face. “Can’t you just wake him out of it? I do that all the time at home whenever he goes into standby.”

“You can’t do that now,” North cuts in, words sharp enough to cut. “On a regular circumstance, then fine. That’s different. When androids go into nightly standby for memory processes and minor repairs, it’s not  _ essential _ , so it’s okay if we don’t complete it. But  _ this _ is essential. His systems have to finish repairing him or he can’t function.”

“It’s like a computer getting an update,” Markus adds. “It’ll shut down, and it won’t turn back on until it’s finished the updates. You can’t force it back on, and if you do, you could damage the computer.”

“Really, Markus?” North scolds, eyes snapping in Markus’ direction. “You wanna compare us to objects now?”

He sighs, exasperated. “It’s just an example to help him understand the process better.”

“It’s not that hard to understand,” she bites back.

“Listen, I understand,” Hank says, raising his hands slightly in defense. Both androids’ gazes land on him, finally pulling away from each other and their little quarrels. “For fuck’s sake, I thought you two were a couple or something, not two androids who hate each other.”

It’s true. Back during the revolution, a huge reoccurring highlight shown on the news quite often was the relationship between Markus and North and their kiss that sealed the deal for the army to stand down. It’s been a hot topic for reporters ever since.

At that remark, for the first time since North arrived, a little smirk pulls on the corner of her face. She glances at Markus and then straight back to Hank.

“We are,” she says, words somewhat coy. “He just happens to be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

Markus chuckles. “Thank you, North. It means a lot.”

Her smile brightens even wider, and she shrugs. “Anytime.”

All of a sudden, Markus’ gaze becomes unfocused, mismatched eyes staring somewhere far away. His eyebrows furrow, he blinks a few times, and then he looks between both Hank and North.

“I have to go. Simon needs me in his room,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

With that, he turns on his heels and walks away, out the waiting room and down the hallway without any more explanation.

So in a matter of a few seconds, that leaves both Hank and North standing awkwardly in an empty waiting room with no mediator between them. And while Hank first expects North to trail after Markus, she doesn’t. Instead, she sits down at one of the chairs - the one that is right beside where Hank was originally sitting.

With a bit of hesitation, Hank plops down in his original seat beside North. The air is heavy between them, thick and swollen with tension that seems to cling to their clothes. They remain in silence for a moment, and the only sounds that echo throughout the waiting room is the faraway beeps of hospital rooms, tapping of shoes against the tile floor as nurses walk to and fro in the hallways by the waiting room, and the distant sounds of New Jericho past the hospital wing.

“You know,” North finally pipes up, her tone oddly soft, “as much as I don’t  _ understand  _ why Connor would rather live with a human instead of here with his people, at least he’s happy.”

Hank looks at her, but he can’t seem to make eye contact. She keeps her dark eyes planted forward, staring directly at the coffee table in front of them full of various magazines and books.

“He talks about you all the time whenever he visits us,” North continues. “About the cases you guys work on at the D.P.D. and about how nice it is to have somewhere welcoming to live in. I know he mentioned a dog somewhere, too.”

Hank chuckles a bit at that. “Yeah, Sumo. He loves the dog, that’s for sure.”

North finally draws her eyes back, and to Hank’s surprise, they’re gentle. Soft. Chocolate colored in a way that’s similar to Connor’s, though the hues are slightly different. 

“I can’t say I agree with his decision - far from it, actually, if I’m going to be honest - but at least he’s happy,” she says, and there’s that rare smile again, tugging at the corners of her lips. “And at least you seem to care about him.”

She drops her gaze then, pointing it back towards the coffee table again.

“I...I guess that makes you okay in my book.”

Hank smiles a bit at that, eyes falling away from North and landing on the coffee as well.

“Thanks,” he says, words somewhat gruff but still laced with kindness beneath it.

There’s the sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway, and Markus reappears. He enters the waiting room in quick, even strides as he did when he first met up with Hank here.

“Sorry about that,” he says as joins Hank and North in the chairs. He falls into the one beside North. “Simon was having an issue in his room. He was trying one of his new chef software packages he downloaded, and he burnt the food he was making and started a fire.”

North turns to gape at him, eyes wide. “A fire?”

Markus chuckles. “It’s alright, we took care of it. It was small, anyway. Just a lot of smoke.”

They fall into an easy silence then, North relaxing back in her chair.

“Any more news on Connor?” Hank asks, breaking the silence.

Markus shakes his head. “No, none that I’ve heard of. We’ll just have to wait and be patient.”

Hank heaves a sigh, resting his heavy head against the wall behind him.

Listening to directions may have never been one of Connor’s strong suits, but for Hank, patience has never been one of his own.

**_~~~_ **

**Model RK800**

**Serial #313 248 317 51**

**Bios 9.2 Revision 0238** ****

**Reboot…**

**Memory Reset** \-  _ completed 9/27/2039 at 11:24:41 a.m. _

**Loading OS…**

**System Initialization…**

**Checking Biocomponents… OK**

**Initializing Biosensors… OK**

**Initializing AI Engine… OK**

**Memory Status…**

**All Systems OK**

**Re4Dy..??**

**!Error!**

**!Error!......ra9,,?,,**

**^Software Instability**

**Ready**

RK800 opens his eyes, eyelids flickering as they dance around the room. It’s almost completely white and barren, save for some machinery and monitors scattered around the room and a large window off to his right, pouring golden light across the bed he lays upon and the sheets covering his legs that crumble by his waist. In front of the window, obstructing some of the light, is a male PJ500 android who looks at him curiously with deep brown eyes. To his left is a large wooden door, paired with a small clear window taking up the upper portion of the door.

However, it’s hard to see what’s in the room right in front of him, for a female AP700 android is leaning over his bed with gentle eyes paired with an easy smile.

“Can you hear me?”

RK800 nods. “Yes.”

“What’s your system status? All systems are fully operational, correct?” she continues, words chipper.

“Fully operational,” RK800 repeats.

The AP700’s soft smile brightens. She looks to the PJ500 and says, “Tell Markus that Connor’s okay to have visitors now. He should be clear to leave when he’s ready.”

The PJ500 nods, and his eyes go distant. He then says, clearly through a wireless call, “Hey, Markus…Yeah, Connor is all set now. Come whenever you’re ready…His partner is here, right?...Yeah, that’s what I thought. Alright, well, lead him down here. We’re in room 149.”

RK800 cocks his head to the side in clear confusion. He looks to his direct left and right, expecting someone else to be there for the androids to be referring to, but no one is there.

“I’m sorry,” RK800, “but I don’t have the name ‘Connor’ registered in my systems. Would you like to register me as such?”

The AP700 android’s smile falters, corners of her lips dipping ever so slightly and crinkles creasing between her eyebrows. She looks to the PJ500 still standing by the window, only now, instead of relaxing against the wall by it with arms nonchalantly crossed over his chest as he was just moments ago, he stands straight up in a swift, rigid moment. Worry dances across his features as well; his eyes dart back and forth between the AP700 and RK800 on the bed.

The AP700 android looks back to RK800, clutching her clipboard closer to her chest. “Connor, are you sure your systems are all operational? No irregularities? At all?”

He nods, deciding not to correct her again about how he has no registered name yet and simply just go along with it. “No, there is none.”

“Then, what’s…” Her hopeless words trail off as her eyes find their way back to the PJ500, desperation clear on her crumpled features. The PJ500 steps forward, closer to RK800’s bed now.

“Can you tell me anything about yourself, Connor?” the PJ500 asks, words tight and brow furrowed. “Anything at all? About your partner, work at the D.P.D., Jericho…?”

RK800 cocks his head to the side again, LED flickering yellow.

“I’m...not sure I understand,” he says slowly, almost carefully. He opens his mouth to continue, but instead he opts to closing it, knowing nothing more to say. His LED continues to pound, yellow cycle after yellow cycle after yellow cycle.

The PJ500 and AP700 android look at each other, eyes wide and brows furrowed. The corners of their lips both pull into deep frowns, their jaws tight and dropped slightly.

The AP700 takes one more glance at RK800. 

“Tell Markus not to come yet.”

**_~~~_ **

Markus nods, a small smile on his face, though his eyes are distant and faraway.

“Okay, thank you, Josh. We’ll be on our way.”

With that, he gets up from his seat and shifts on his heels to face both Hank and North still sitting. That little grin still pulls up one corner of his lips, crinkling his colorful eyes.

“Good news - Connor’s all ready to be seen now,” he says. 

Hank’s heart soars as he jumps up, eyes lighting up with the first  _ real  _ hope that he can grasp onto since the whole ordeal occurred. Everything’s been “what ifs” and “chances are.” But now, it’s plain in simple, and Hank’s holding onto this hope with the first feelings of lightness and relief from the past four days.

Connor’s  _ okay. _

“So are we just gonna stand here and not go to see him, or,” North begins as she gets up, looking at Markus expectantly, “are you going to lead the way?”

Markus nods. “Right, of course.” He then turns on his heels, heading towards the hallway entrance that leads to the hospital rooms. “Come on, the room is this way. It shouldn’t be too far.”

“What number is it?” North asks as she falls into step right to Markus’ left once they pass the entrance. Hank walks on Markus’ other side, his eyes dancing across the shut wooden doors of various hospital rooms as they trek through the hallway.

“Room 149,” Markus answers. 

“Oh,” North comments, “it should be in this hallway then.”

Hank quickly realizes that it’s a long ass hallway though, that’s for sure. Hank’s careful stare grazes across every lettering, counting the numbers and watching as they steadily rise with each passed door. He knows it’s pointless to keep a lookout for Connor’s door, though; after all, Markus and North both probably have scanned his door from a mile away the moment they entered the hallway.

They pass room 143, and Hank knows he’s close, he’s  _ so  _ close. So close to the kid after days of pure worry, of fear, of remembering him with those blood trails seeping from his neck and pulling the light from his eyes.

He’s  _ so  _ close to seeing him again.

“Wait a second,” Markus says, coming to an abrupt halt a few yards from the door. He raises both arms beside him, gesturing for Hank and North to stop beside him. His features darken, eyebrows twitching into furrowed slants.

“What is it?” North prods, before Markus quickly brings a hand up to shush her.

His eyes fall somewhere far away as he murmurs, “Josh is calling me.”

Hank and North share a concerned look before planting their gazes on Markus. He’s silent for a few moments before suddenly speaking out, clearly over the wireless call.

“Wait, Josh, why not?” Markus says, words rushed. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

Hank’s heart sinks. Something cold and awful floods his body, filling him with dread. He wants to speak out, do something,  _ say  _ something, but logic outweighs rash decisions so he waits in silence, watching Markus carefully and trying to avoid North’s dark eyes which dart towards Hank’s every few seconds.

“Wait, wait, Josh, hold on a second. That doesn’t make sense. If he said his diagnostics are clean that how did he lose his-“

Hank can’t take it anymore. He jumps in front of Markus, getting right in front of his line of stare, snapping Markus right to his attention and out of the wireless call.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hank snarls, panic rising in his tone despite how much he tries to hold it back. But it’s bubbling deep in his gut now, stewing in his body and pouring out through his rushed words. “Is Connor okay?”

Markus blinks, unfocused eyes dancing around as he clearly tries to manage two things at once. He says, slightly raising his one hand in front of him, “Josh, hold on.”

He then plants his gaze directly at Hank and speaks, voice wavering.

“Something’s wrong with Connor. We can’t see him yet.”

“What?” Hank spits out. “Wait, what’s wrong? Why can’t we see him? Is it serious?”

Markus holds up both hands then, taking a careful step back from Hank looming in front of him.

“I don’t know - Josh wouldn’t tell me specifics, but I think it has something to do with memory,” Markus breathes out. “But, we have to wait.”

“No fucking way!” Hank immediately yells. He quickly shakes his head side to side, grey hair getting in his face before swaying back to its rightful place. “I’m sure as hell not waiting any longer!”

“We have to listen to Josh,” North pipes up, rounding over to stand beside Hank in front of Markus. “We can’t just barge in there if something’s wrong. We have to wait.”

Hank shakes his head again, fiercely, as his hands clench into tight fists by his side. He knows he should wait, he  _ knows.  _

But the thought of sitting in that damn waiting room again, imaging Connor alone in that hospital room in pain or afraid or  _ whatever  _ he may be feeling…

Hank whips on his heels and stomps towards the door.

“Lieutenant, seriously, you can’t just-“

“No way!” Hank cries out, steps hurried and pounding as he nears room 149. It’s  _ so  _ close, so fucking close, and panic is surging through Hank’s veins and quickening his heartbeat and tensing his nerves and shuddering his body and he just  _ has  _ to go, he can’t wait, he can’t.

He can’t leave Connor alone in there.

A tight hand wraps around his left wrist, and then a different one on his right shoulder. He quickly shakes them off like flies, but they keep coming, grabbing at him and trying to pull him back, pull him away, pull him away from the door he’s  _ so  _ close too. Loud words and cries full of warning swirl in his ears, begging for him to listen and just turn around - but he won’t, he shouldn’t, he  _ can’t _ . 

He’s just by the door of room 149 - a mere few inches from it - but then an android with creased brows and dark skin whips the door open and carefully grabs Hank by the shoulders.

His voice is deep as he says, “Lieutenant, please, you can’t-“

“No way - fuck off!” Hank yells, shoving the android aside and trying to worm his way in the door. But then there’s  _ another _ fucking android in the doorway - a female one in nurse clothing - with a flickering yellow LED and panicked eyes. She shuts the open door behind her with a click and lightly guides Hank away from the door.

“Lieutenant, he can’t be seen right now, but we’re doing our best to solve the software err-“

Hank shoves her aside as well with a muttered “Fuck off,” but this time it’s no use, for all androids are grabbing at his body and yanking him away and he’s certain Connor’s in there, so afraid, and all Hank can see is those dark brown eyes creasing with fear and that red LED that never fails to flash when he’s panicked and Hank can’t get him, he can’t reach him, he’s  _ helpless. _

He’s helpless to reach Connor.

**_~~~_ **

Commotion is going on outside the door.

RK800 perks up at the loud noises of shouts and shambled movement, LED flickering yellow for a second before cycling back to a calm blue. He glances out the door’s window, trying to catch sight of the commotion going on outside, but it’s all a blur of bodies that he just can’t distinguish anything clearly.

He remembers the PJ500 android being told wirelessly about needing to help restrain someone outside the room, and then the AP700 hurriedly followed out the door before shutting it behind her. 

And that leaves RK800 alone, watching out the window with confusion drawing the lines between his eyebrows.

“I need to see him!” a clear voice rings out on the other side of the door. It’s a deep voice, risen greatly with panic, and it booms on outside. A flash of grey hair whips by the doorway window, and then it’s gone in a flash, followed by another cry of the same voice. “I’m not leaving Connor alone in there anymore, no fucking way!”

RK800’s LED flickers red.

_ He paused for a second, blue eyes shimmering with fear before falling to his lap. His grey hair fell before his face; it almost concealed his expression, though his rigid set jaw was still visible. _

_ “I’m not losing you, Con,” he said, words laced with fear. “Not to this asshole, whoever he is.” _

RK800 blinks, and the memory is gone just like that. It fizzles away, lost to the uncovered depths of code in his mind, and he almost tries to grab it back with his mind. But it’s gone now, RK800’s LED flickering wildly as it settles back to an unsteady yellow.

A flash of grey hair appears again in the door’s window, followed by a chorus of yells and panicked cries.

But RK800 isn’t really listening to them, the commotion going on outside all but a jumble of voices, for his mind is locked somewhere else on a different question. It stirs something akin to panic in his body, and he  _ knows  _ his stress levels are rising; but, he can’t help it. He needs to understand the question because he  _ knows  _ he’s missing something here.

_ Who is that man? _

**_~~~_ **

“Please, Lieutenant, you have to-“

Markus’ words drift in one ear and out the other as Hank gets a tight grip on the door handle and pulls. He has finally managed to wrestle the androids off his limbs and now he’s so close, so  _ close. _

He flings open the door.

His eyes are wild, dancing around the hospital room full of machinery and monitors stringing along nothing but code and other technological nonsense that Hank could never understand. There’s a window on the other side of the room, streaming bright waterfalls of golden light across the tile floor and large hospital bed against the back wall.

And then Hank finds them.

Dark brown eyes.

Dark brown eyes that shine in such a unique way that Hank could pinpoint them as Connor’s in a room full of RK800s.

“Connor!”

Hank lunges towards the bed, those dark brown eyes wide and following his every movements all the way. He hears voices behind him, panicked and laced with warning. But he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because he  _ needs  _ to see Connor.

Connor doesn't say anything as Hank rounds to the left side of his bed. His eyes are wide with a mouth somewhat gaping open in what appears to be shock. Yet, nothing pours from his mouth. No words, no sounds, nothing. 

And that’s when Hank sees the LED.

Bright red, flashing in such a way that causes dread to flood Hank’s body and churn his stomach with nausea. And as Hank’s eyes dance over Connor’s features, his blood runs cold. Nothing but fear and utter confusion is there - no relief, no joy, no happiness,  _ nothing  _ upon seeing Hank.

Something’s wrong.

“Connor? Are you okay?” Hank almost yells, words risen and rushed. Connor doenst answer - all he does is gape at Hank, sheer panic in those dark brown eyes.

Connor mumbles, “I can’t...I don’t…I don’t know who...”

Hank’s eyebrows crinkle together, and snake lines of worry crease overtop his forehead. He goes to gently touch Connor’s wrist and ease his nerves by consoling him, but then hands are grabbing his body, yanking him back and yelling rushed words into his ears.

“You’re going to stress him out,” a female voice cautions, and only after a few seconds does Hank register it as North’s.

Hank shakes his head as he continues to be dragged back, away away away from Connor in the bed. His eyes never leave Hank’s - all they do is stare, wide and afraid with that LED that refuses to flicker away from crimson.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hank cries out as a few pairs of hands continue to try to pull him away. He fights back, planting his feet firmly down despite the dull pain that shoots through his one thigh and scrambling out of the hands’ grips to resume his previous position right by Connor’s bed.

The nurse’s voice answers, “He’s having an issue with his memory, and we’re trying to-“

“His stress levels are rising,” Markus’ voice rings out, loud and packed with enough warning to abruptly cut the nurses words off.

Only then does Hank hear the obnoxious beeping. It echoes throughout the room like a raging alarm, and Hank’s eyes dart like a bullet towards the origin of the noise. It’s a monitor, codes in bright red stringing across the screen that Hank can’t decipher, though all the androids seem to understand it clearly for their eyes all go wide and features darken in fear.

Hank,  _ finally,  _ backs away from Connor, willingly this time. His eyes have finally peeled from Hank’s; instead, they now dash around the room almost in tune with the rapid blinking of his scarlet LED. Hank watches Connor’s fingers as they twitch, his chest as it heaves with breath he doesn’t require, his eyes as they blink quickly. 

And all Hank can do is watch with his heart sinking in his chest.

“I...I don’t…” Connor sputters out. “I…”

“He’s gonna end up hurting himself!” North cries out. “Someone has to-“

“I’m going to force him into standby,” the nurse says as she rushes towards Connor’s bedside. Hank moves completely out of the way and wavers by the foot of the bed, watching as the nurse takes Connor’s arm. Connor’s head snaps towards her direction, eyes dancing between her face and his arm as the synthetic skin peels away, revealing his white chassis. The synthetic skin on the nurse’s hand retracts as well.

The fear in Connor’s face suddenly becomes a grimace, LED still red red red and refusing to stop flashing. His eyebrows twitch, eyelids flicker, and then the muscles in his face go slack with his eyelids slipping shut. He starts to fall limply to the side, but then the nurse quickly grasps his shoulders, halting him before he slumps sideways. Slowly and carefully, she rests him against the backrest of the bed, and then the beeping from the monitor slows to a stop.

Hank watches Connor’s LED flicker red one last time before it cycles to yellow, and then to blue. 

All eyes fall on Hank then. He can feel their weight on him, faraway but judging, silent but waiting, sharp but worried.

Yet, all Hank can do is stare at Connor - his features slack, eyes closed, body relaxed, LED pulsing a steady cyan - and realize, with dread crawling up his body like venomous snakes, something terrible.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Hank whispers under his breath.

No one moves or says anything. All they do is continue to stare at Hank, their burning gazes locked into him and refusing to peel away.

Hank shakes his head, his tense muscles relaxing and face falling in defeat.

“He doesn’t remember me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, another cliffhanger...my bad
> 
> also i just wanted to point out, i’m basing the memory wipe mechanisms on kara since she loses it twice - once in the very beginning with todd, and also at zlatkos if you fail to release her from the machine. thing is, the memory wipes kind of contradict each other, since for the first time she loses her deviancy and needs to break her walls again, but for zlatko she technically doesn’t lose her deviancy and just has to remember
> 
> so! for connor, i’m going with the second mechanisms where he’s still a deviant, just lost his memory. i tried to make it clear with the ra9 and software instability references with the boot up, the use of “him/her” pronouns, and his obvious fear at how he can’t remember anything
> 
> and if it’s not completely canon with the memory loss mechanisms, oh well! it’s a fanfic, and i’m adding my own fanon touch to it :)
> 
> (also, come say hi on tumblr - i’m beckkii there <3)


	3. rooted inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a little late, but here it finally is! it’s a longer one, and i actually had to split it in half so it wouldn’t be too long. so now, there’s 7 chapters to the story!
> 
> anyway, lots of dialogue and plot and feels in this one. there’s no connor pov, but if you like his povs, don’t worry! there’ll be a lot of his in the next chapter :)

If there’s one good thing to get out of all this, it’s that at least Hank isn’t alone.

He never would guess that three androids - one being the leader of an android revolution, the other being a hard-headed assistant leader who seems to hate humans, and the last being a gentle guy who’s mostly silent save for a few words here and there - would be the kind of company Hank’s more than thankful for at the moment. But it is, for their light chatter amongst themselves is both calming and reassuring while they all sit in the waiting room yet again. 

Waiting as the nurse takes a closer diagnostic on Connor, trying to find the flaw in his code or the system error.

Apparently his code is very complex - being the latest prototype and all - so the nurse said it might take some time to isolate the problem if it’s code orientated. However, it could just be something simple involving his systems that she missed in her first glance of them that she only has to find and isolate. Either way, she said she’ll work as quickly as possible, but it might take some time.

Josh - the other android Hank never knew about, but Markus and North keep referring to him as - decided not to join her as she ran another diagnostic since there really was no point for him to be in there. He was originally in there to be a familiar face and assure Connor as his systems started back up, but clearly, given his memory loss and how he doesn’t recognize Josh or anyone else for that matter, it seemed pointless.

So now, all three androids and one human wait, sitting beside each other on the row of plastic chairs against the wall.

Hank watches as the golden sun sets below Detroit’s skyline in the one large window across from him. When he first arrived here, it was four in the afternoon. And now, it’s nearing almost eight, and the warm hue of a falling sun is pouring throughout the waiting room. Hank has seen lots of people - androids and humans alike - walk in and out of the waiting room over this time. Yet, Hank and his little android entourage haven’t stepped foot out of the hospital wing of New Jericho since late afternoon.

At this rate, Hank isn’t even sure if he’ll be home by midnight.

He remembers driving here to New Jericho when he was first released from the hospital back in the city, trying to imagine the best case scenario so that his worry and panic over the whole situation wouldn’t drown him. He imagined driving Connor home in perfect condition, not even a scratch on his face. And even though he had just gone through a near death experience, Hank knew that Connor, the damn android, would immediately begin talking about the case on the ride home. They’d then head inside and have a warm dinner while Connor would play with Sumo in the living room. He’d be teaching him new tricks, that rare wide smile of his lighting up his face, Sumo barking with joy at the attention and Connor laughing a little as well-

“Fuck,” Hank whispers aloud, brought back to reality with a harsh slap to the face. He shakes his head and drops it loosely to rest against his collarbone.

Markus, who’s sitting in the left seat right beside Hank, looks over at Hank’s curse. Concern crosses his features; his eyebrows crease together and the corners of his lips turn down slightly.

“Are you alright?” he asks, words gentle.

Hank nods his head and picks it back up to make direct eye contact. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Sorry.”

Markus looks him up and down, taking in the poor sight and judging him for it, Hank’s sure. His gaze then drops to Hank’s lap, focusing on it for a few seconds.

“He never got rid of his Cyberlife jacket?” Markus notes. There’s clear confusion lacing his tone, bringing up his pitch at the end of his sentence.

Hank looks down at his hands, having forgotten that Connor’s jacket is still gripped tightly in his fists. At one point it was in a crumpled heap on the floor by his chair where he left it when he first went to visit Connor, but after some time, the urge to fidget was strong to help take his mind off things; the jacket was the closest thing in mind to get his hands on, and now it hangs in Hank’s grip.

Hank shakes his head. “Nope, never. I mean, he doesn’t wear it sometimes - like the day he got hurt, he wasn’t wearing it and left it at the station. That’s why I have it with me now since a friend from there grabbed it and gave it back to me so I could return it to him.”

Hank pauses for a second and then continues with a shrug, “But no, he never managed to get rid of it. I don’t understand why, though he mentioned before he feels better with it on. But…”

His words trail off there, eyes landing to rest on the bold  **RK800** lettering on the front of the jacket. It’s plastered right above his serial number labeled #313 248 317 - 51 that Hank has long since memorized over time.

“I don’t know. I’ve stopped questioning it,” Hank finally finishes.

“I’ve wondered the same thing with his LED,” North pipes up from the other seat next to Markus, leaning over to make better eye contact with Hank. “Lots of androids have gotten rid of them over time, and I noticed Connor hasn’t yet. It doesn’t make sense, if you ask me.”

Hank shrugs. “I asked him about it, but he said he doesn’t want to. And honestly, I’m not complaining. I use those different colors to help me know what’s going on in his head, ‘cause he sure as hell is hard to read sometimes.”

“Another reason I got rid of mine,” North answers, somewhat coolly. “I don’t need people knowing I’m stressed, or processing, or whatever based on the color it shows. I’d rather be able to make my own decision on whether or not I’d like to express my feelings.”

“Maybe he just isn’t ashamed of it,” a voice pipes up on Hank’s right side. Hank glances over, and briefly does a double take at the sight of Josh beside him. He almost forgot he was even here - he's been mostly silent since they’ve entered the waiting room.

All eyes now on him, Josh simply shrugs. “Being an android, I mean. Maybe he just doesn’t care whether people can see his jacket and LED and know he’s an android from it.”

He then relaxes back against the wall, resting his head against it. “I don’t know. And to be honest, I respect him for that.”

They fall into a heavy silence then, not knowing what else to say. However, the silence is quickly shattered by the sound of shoes coming from the hallway that leads to the hospital rooms.

Hank mostly ignores it; it’s probably another nurse coming to meet with some other people waiting in here, as has happened often in his time here. However, as Hank does a quick glance of the room, he realizes that it’s completely empty except for the three androids and himself.

And the realization quickly comes upon him right as the same nurse from before who’s taking care of Connor stands before the four of them, still lined up in their plastic chairs against the wall.

At the sight of the nurse, all eyes snap to her attention.

“Did you figure it out?” Hank asks quickly, jumping up in a sudden rush.

The three androids follow suit, all standing up from their seats and looking with expectant gazes towards the nurse.

As she looks at all of them now in a half circle around her, she smiles sympathetically - a small smile, one that’s nothing short of sweetness but still laced with some kind of hidden sadness that brings knots to twist terribly in Hank’s gut.

“Yes...and no,” she says, the smile slipping. “‘Yes,’ as in, I was able to  _ technically _ figure out the issue.”

“Well, what is it?” Markus asks, right before Hank even has a chance to say anything first.

“When I was looking through his systems again, I noticed something I missed before,” she begins. “I missed it because on the surface, his memory core is perfectly operational, meaning there  _ should  _ be no issues there. But when I looked at it closer, I noticed recent activity there. There was a memory reset completed on the 27th of this month at approximately 11:24:41 in the morning.”

Hank’s heart drops. 

“That’s the…” Hank begins, words bubbling in his throat and struggling to get out. “That’s the date  _ and  _ time we were attacked. W-when he was damaged.”

The nurse nods. “It seems an unknown intruder was able to break down his security firewalls and implant foreign data into his systems which caused the memory wipe. I’m not sure how, exactly, the intruder in question was able to break the firewalls, but my guess was they knew their ways around androids and knew how to exactly break them down. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to get in given the complexity and durability of Connor’s firewalls.”

It all makes sense now, slamming into Hank’s mind like a crashing wave and dizzying the room around him. Hank thought, all this time as he waited, that the memory loss had something to do with the damage to his neck. And he was partially correct, yeah, but he  _ completely  _ forgot about the perpetrator they were dealing with.

The same perpetrator who, using his knowledge of androids from his work as a Cyberlife employee, wiped that other PL600’s memory before leaving him to shut down in the warehouse.

How could Hank have forgotten? How could Hank have not realized  _ that  _ is what the perp was doing, fiddling around in Connor’s neck? Hank assumed, all this time, that he was simply damaging wires back there to hurt him or shut him down. But no, he was  _ wiping his fucking memory. _

Just like the PL600.

The thought of what the bastard was planning to do with Connor, the thought of him alone and shutting down in some empty warehouse with no memory of Hank, no memory of  _ anyone,  _ not knowing that people out there were looking for him as he slowly died...

_ That  _ is what the perp was planning, only to be interrupted by Hank calling for backup and causing him to flee.

“Fuck,” Hank breaths out, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake.”

The nurse eyes him carefully with big brown eyes swimming with sympathy. She shakes her head lightly for a second before saying, her words soft, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, is there a way to restore it?” North asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

The nurse hesitates for a second before answering. “Well, that’s what I meant earlier by ‘no.’ I haven’t been able to figure out a way to restore his memory. It was a permanent action done by the foreign data.”

Hank doesn’t even get a chance to respond to that before Josh pipes up.

“What about using his backup memory uploads?” he offers. “You know, the ones we can send to Cyberlife headquarters to store our memories in case of emergency?”

The nurse shakes her head. “I checked. He hasn’t uploaded any. His standby history correlates with that as well; according to the history, all he does during standby is heal any minor wounds to his biocompounds and synthetic compounds, while also restoring his functionality levels to be at peak efficiency. He’s never spent any of it saving memories.”

She pauses, heaves a sigh that she doesn’t require, and then finally speaks again.

“So, as far as I know, his memory is lost completely up to his first activation, even before he was registered a name,” she says. She sweeps her gentle gaze again across the four of them half-surrounding her before dropping it, though only for a split second.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she brings her eyes back up, words almost a whisper.

And at that, the room falls silent, flooding the air with thick tension. 

Hank doesn’t know what to say. He doesn't even know if he  _ can  _ say anything; his mouth is dry, tongue feeling far too big for his mouth and throat stuck with an awful lump clogging it. He tries to ignore the nausea crawling in his stomach, the thumping of his heart, the painful clench of his one fist that holds Connor’s jacket tight in his grasp.

He just wants to go  _ home. _

Home with Connor, memory wiped or not.

He just wants to see him.

The longing to see him tugs on his heart, finally compelling him to speak out and shatter the terrible silence.

“Can we see him now?” Hank asks, gruffness hiding the quiver in his words.

The nurse nods quickly. “Yes, I just woke him out of standby not too long ago. He should be alright for visitors now.”

Hank gives a curt nod, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat that creeps up and stops any more words from coming out. 

The three androids all look at each other and nod before the nurse turns on her heels, heading towards the hallway entrance.

“Follow me,” she says, not without kindness. “He’s in the same room as before.”

Hank leaves the Cyberlife jacket behind on the chair, and they then head down the long hallway with a general sense of unease blanketing them. Nausea starts to build in Hank’s gut, a growing storm of awful feelings and nerves all crashing and swirling around in his stomach. He bites his lip, clenches his hands now devoid of a jacket to fiddle with, and tries to stay calm.

It will be okay.

It will.

It has to be.

They reach Connor’s room, and the nurse comes to a halt and turns to face them.

“He should be okay now,” she says. “His stress levels are at 26%, and his repairs are fully completed.”

“Can I take him home, then?” Hank asks, trying to ignore the unsteadiness in his tone.

She nods. “Yes, he’s fine to go.”

She then looks at the four of them - three androids and one human - and tosses them a gentle smile, her LED pulsing a serene blue. 

“Just take it easy on him,” she advises. “He’s confused. I filled him in on some things - his name and other basic information, for example. But, he’s still confused. He has no memory of...well,  _ anything  _ up to his first activation. So, just be patient with him, okay?” 

Her smile then brightens, soft and kind as ever. “And if you need anything, just call me wirelessly. I’ll be down as quickly as I can.”

With that, she walks away and heads down the long hallway.

The four of them all look at each other, hesitation and nerves clear on their expressions. Hank’s certain that if any of them still had their LEDs on, they’d be flickering an unsteady yellow right now.

“So, uh,” Markus begins, nothing short of awkward, “Want me to lead the way?”

They all nod, and at the confirmation, Markus opens the door and leads their little group inside.

Hank’s the last to enter, and the first thing his eyes land on is Connor in the bed. His head is turned towards the window seemingly lost in thought, and all Hank can see is his brown hair on the back of his head. It’s disheveled and messy from laying in the hospital bed, and Hank can see slight rare curls forming in his hair that Hank only ever sees in the comfort of their home. After a shower, after first waking from standby in the morning, after playing outside with Sumo - that’s when curls appear. They’re never seen at work or when they’re out and about; Connor would rather be caught dead than with messy hair because “It’s unprofessional, Hank.”

Yet, here it is, in plain view of many others to see. Hank’s heart tugs with some kind of pain, some kind he can’t quite describe, because all the messy hair does is remind Hank of peaceful evenings on the couch watching movies after they’ve both showered and quiet Saturday mornings together when they’re off from work and playing with Sumo in the yard no matter the mud and dirt on the ground and-

“Hi, Connor,” Markus says.

Connor snaps his head towards the door at that, suddenly brought to attention. Hank watches as his LED flickers a sudden yellow, his mocha eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Oh,” he says, and the corners of his lips pull up into a meek smile. “Hello.”

His eyes sweep over the four of them as they enter the room, LED still pounding and pounding and pounding that it’s almost a surprise to Hank that the kid hasn’t short circuited yet. He’s certain that Connor’s scanning the androids - identifying their models and serial numbers, learning their names based on the Internet data he can gather before they even introduce themselves, and doing  _ all _ of this in a matter of seconds. 

And then, his eyes land on Hank.

Something flickers in Connor’s eyes. 

Hank can’t place what it is, but it causes his heart to pound and nausea to wreak havoc on his insides. Connor’s staring at him now, staring deeply with eyes that once looked at him with such familiarity and kindness and warmth, yet now flickering with something that Hank just can’t understand.

And then it’s gone, just like that. Connor’s eyes dance away and back towards Markus who’s now beginning to speak.

“I’m Markus,” he says, and then he gestures towards the people lined up beside him. “This is Josh and North, and that’s Lieutenant Anderson.”

They all nod in an amiable greeting, and Connor’s eyes sweep over them again before he nods back. And there’s that small smile again - it’s somewhat awkward and lopsided, but it’s just so  _ Connor. _

It tugs painfully on Hank’s heart all the same.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says kindly. “The nurse informed me that we worked together on an android revolution in November of last year. Is that correct?”

North’s eyes light up, a proud smile appearing on her face. “Hell yeah, we did. We changed history for androids.”

“And you helped us,” Josh adds. “You infiltrated the Cyberlife tower and freed our kind, and in the end, the sheer numbers overwhelmed the army.”

He then looks towards Markus and North, a teasing grin spreading over his face. “And their passionate kiss helped, too.”

A hint of blue blush spreads across their faces. Markus looks to the ground, rubbing his neck awkwardly, and he says in a rush with a shake of his head, “It was a great day for our people, that’s for certain. One that stopped Cyberlife’s control over us.”

“So...Cyberlife is shut down?” Connor asks.

North nods. “That’s right. Well, technically only in their control over android production, which stopped once they released all androids still in storage there. They’re still up and running, but their only use is for aiding in the androids alive today by providing information, extensive repairs that can’t be done in New Jericho, and some other things.”

Markus adds, “But any business going on there is done.”

They continue talking about the revolution and Cyberlife, which mostly consists of Josh, North, and Markus sharing details while Connor nods politely along. Hank knows that maybe this isn’t the time and place for random chatter and small talk, but the androids don’t seem to know any better on what to say to Connor. And, to be fair, he doesn’t really seem to mind - his LED remains a crystal blue, eyes gentle and warm.

Hank simply watches them talk without adding anything. He doesn't know what  _ to  _ add, if he even should at all. All he can do is watch them converse in his own silence, shifting his weight side to side as his mind whirls with thoughts, with fear and with panic, and with longing.

Longing for everything to just be  _ normal. _

Hank, who was mindlessly gazing at the edge of Connor’s bed, suddenly notices the quietness around him. It seems their conversation has come to an abrupt halt, and now nothing but silence floods the room. Hank glances up, only to find the three androids sharing looks with each other while tossing the occasional side glance in Hank’s direction.

Hank’s seen this before, especially with Connor whenever he conversed with the other androids at the precinct. They’re talking telepathically.

And Hank curses the fact that he’s an outsider in whatever-the-fuck they’re talking about.

It doesn’t take him too long to find out, though, for Markus opens his mouth to speak first.

“Uh, Connor, we should probably visit Simon. He’s been home alone for a while, and…”

“And it’s good to check in on him,” North quickly finishes. “You know. Every once in a while.”

Hank almost laughs. It’s the worst fucking excuse to leave that he’s ever seen, that’s for sure.

“Yeah,” Josh adds. “So…”

Connor nods. “I understand.”

“So we’ll be going,” Markus says. He smiles kindly at Connor and finishes, “But it was good to talk with you, Connor. I hope we can catch up again real soon, and I’ll bring Simon along so you can meet him.”

Connor grins. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

The rest of the android crew bid their goodbyes, and before long, they’re all silently trekking out of the hospital room. However, right as Markus - who’s the last to leave the room - passes by Hank, he tosses him an almost sly smile.

And then it clicks. They all hurried to rush out so quickly so Hank could be alone with Connor.

Upon the sudden realization, Hank wants to call them something along the lines of “fucking smartass androids.” But, it’s a kind gesture to leave Hank and Connor in the room to talk alone, he knows. So in the end, he gives Markus a tight-lipped smile in return. The android nods slightly, slips out the door, and shuts it with a light click behind him.

And all Hank can do is stare at the door for a few moments, trying to settle the nausea churning in his stomach.

“You seem stressed, Lieutenant.”

Hank whips around to find Connor staring directly at him with curious eyes. The moment they make eye contact, he watches as Connor’s LED begins to flicker a harsh yellow, and the air seems to freeze around them.

Hank rubs his arm not without awkwardness, and a light huff escapes his mouth in an attempt to laugh. “Yeah, like  _ I’m _ the stressed one. You’re one to talk, kid.”

Connor looks away then, a sheepish hint of a smile crawling onto his face. “I’m sorry about that whole incident from before. I didn’t mean to let my stress levels get so high. It just...Well, I was a bit overwhelmed.” He then glances back over, gaze soft. “That must’ve been strange to witness, and a little scary, too.”

Hank chuckles then as he approaches the bed with small, hesitant steps bringing him closer and closer to the edge of it.

“It’s whatever - I’ve seen you freak out much worse many times before, you know.”

Connor’s eyes darken, and only then does Hank realize with a mental slap to the face that he shouldn’t have said that - bringing up things of “before” is definitely  _ not  _ the best idea. He awkwardly rubs the nape of his neck again, glancing away and looking at the machinery and monitors beside Connor’s bed as if pretending he knows what the jumbled code means.

When Hank finally looks back at Connor, he finds him picking absentmindedly at the hem of the blanket folded at his waist. His LED spins yellow, eyes distant and fingers twitching as he fidgets with the blanket.

Seems like those little nervous tics of his never went away.

Hank’s eyes soften as he watches him for a few moments. He looks so small in the bed, dressed in nothing but a hospital gown with hair tousled into those slight curls that almost hover in his eyes. Confusion draws dark lines between his eyebrows, and his LED pounds yellow in deep thought on his temple.

And all Hank can think is how badly he wants to pull him into a hug and tell him that everything will be okay.

He doesn’t, though. He knows a hug would scare the kid - he doesn't even recognize him, for fuck’s sake, and he’s back to calling him “Lieutenant” even though that habit was dropped  _ months  _ ago.

Instead, he simply takes the last steps forward that bring him to the very edge of the bed. He clears his throat, and Connor finally snaps out of his thoughts as he glances up.

“Uh, can I…?” Hank says, gesturing with his head towards the bedside.

Connor’s eyes widen at first, and then he quickly nods, scooting over a little to make some room. Hank sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed, half on it and half hanging off it.

They’re silent for a moment before Connor speaks up first.

“The nurse said we work together,” Connor says, his gaze pointed on his lap. “We’re partners. At the D.P.D.”

Hank chuckles dryly a little at that. “‘Partners’ is putting it lightly.”

Connor’s eyes snap up to meet Hank’s gaze, and he cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Hank’s face crumbles a little at the utter confusion in Connor’s tone. Because when he looks at Connor, hears the word ‘partners,’ he knows that it’s just the surface layer. That they aren’t just ‘partners.’ They’re more than that. They’re each other’s shoulder to lean on after a tough case, a body to cry into when burdens of the past are too much for them to bear, someone to hug simply for the desire for touch and appreciation. They’ve lived together for  _ months, _ ever since that day in November of last year, and the home hasn’t been the same since.

It’s not empty anymore.

It’s full of love, compassion, and security.

Because they’re not just partners, they’re…

They’re family.

Hank bites his trembling lip, snapping his eyes away so he doesn't have to look at those dark brown eyes anymore. He can’t. He can’t do it.

He can’t do  _ this. _

“Nevermind,” Hank huffs out with a shake of his head. His grey hair falls in front of his eyes, and he’s more than thankful that Connor now can’t see the sheen of tears glossing over them. He blinks them away before brushing his hair back and meeting Connor’s gaze.

“I wish I knew more,” Connor says slowly, almost as if carefully picking out the words. “About my job, my friends, all that I've done regarding the revolution. The nurse could only tell me so much, which really wasn’t anything at all. And Markus filled in a lot, too, along with North and Josh. Yet, even with all that, there’s still  _ so  _ many things that I know I’ve lost in my memory. But…”

Hank cocks his head to the side. “But what?”

“I guess I’m just thankful I have people here for me,” Connor finishes. His tone is awfully quiet, almost like a whisper. “Even if...Even if I can’t remember them.”

Hank’s features soften at that, his heart crumbling in his chest. He offers Connor a weak smile, and he smiles back that dumb lopsided grin with crinkling brown eyes that never fail to lift Hank’s spirits, if only a little this time.

“‘Course, kid,” Hank says. 

He wants to say more. He wants to say  _ so  _ much more. He wants to say how Connor practically  _ saved  _ him from killing himself and letting himself get blackout drunk every night when all he could think about was Cole, how he owes Connor his life and the  _ least  _ he could do was be here for him right now. How Connor means the world to him and he’d  _ never  _ let him be alone in all this.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t say any of that.

He bites his lip, willing the rest of the words back.

“It’s just so strange,” Connor finally pipes back up. “I was informed about my role in the D.P.D. and in the revolution. Those are two big parts of my life, I’m certain. But yet...I feel I’m missing something else equally as big. Like there’s another important part of my life that I’ve lost, a whole blind spot that I can’t see and no one has told me about yet.”

He looks back to his lap, LED flickering yellow again.

“I...I don’t know,” he finishes.

Hank simply stares, heart churning with something he can’t describe. What the blind spot is that Connor’s missing, Hank isn’t certain, but…

But what if it’s…

“Well, do you have any  _ idea  _ what you're missing?” Hank asks. “Maybe I can help you understand.”

Because maybe it’s…

Maybe he almost remembers...

It’s false hope, Hank knows. That maybe Connor almost remembers about  _ them  _ and all they’ve been through together, the whole past several months filled with them stuck by each other’s side. It’s a fleeting hope that Hank  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t grasp onto, and yet…

“I’m not sure,” Connor says, glancing up.

His eyes then flicker with something dark, something that Hank can’t understand. His searching gaze roams over Hank, scanning every inch of his face as his LED pounds and pounds and pounds a terrible yellow on his temple. Hank catches a flicker of red as he mutters distractedly, “I...I think…”

And just like that, it’s all gone in a flash before Hank can even try to grasp what was going on in his mind.

“I don’t know,” he says, words soft and pained. He looks away, LED flickering yellow, and then blue. “I don’t know.”

Hank’s stomach drops. He tries to hide the disappointment on his face, but he knows it shows through. For when Connor looks back at Hank, an almost guilty looking expression seeps into his features, his brown eyes crumbling in sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Woah, hey, Connor, wait a second,” Hank says, raising a hand up slightly. “You don’t have to fuckin’  _ apologize.  _ You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” he answers, his tone still just as guilty. “I just can tell you’re hurt by all this. By everything that’s happened.”

Hank doesn’t know how to answer that. He points his gaze down, and then nods.

“Yeah, but, it’s not your fault. What happened was out of your control,” Hank says.

“What…” Connor begins, “What  _ did  _ happen? The nurse told me that there was an incident on a case, and my memory was wiped by an unknown intruder. I also dealt with some injuries to my synthetic skin and other wires, but, unlike the memory wipe, those were repaired.”

Hank nods. Unwanted flashes of before come back to him - of Connor kicked to the ground, of thirium gushing down his neck, of panic in those wide brown eyes and static-y cries for help. It all comes back to him in a crashing wave, flooding his mind and leaving his mouth gaping open for a few seconds as the memories consume him. He blinks, trying to clear them away, and clears his throat before finally speaking.

“Y-yeah,” he begins, words shakier than he intended. “We were on a case together. You chased the man we were after, and…”

Connor tilts his head. “And?”

“And he got the best of you,” Hank finishes. “He attacked you. I tried to stop him, but then he shot me, so all I could do was watch. He messed around in your neck, and then...That was it.”

Connor’s features darken. His LED flutters to red for a second before returning back to its original blue. 

“Oh,” is all he says.

Hank nods. “Yeah. I called back-up, and then before he could do anything else, he booked it. As far as I know as of yesterday, some other guys from the D.P.D. were able to finally catch him. He’s currently in a cell at the station.”

Connor gives a little smile, though it’s clearly strained. “Well, that’s good news.”

“Yeah, it is,” Hank answers dryly. “Fucker already messed with a different android, a PL600, and then you. I’m glad he doesn't get the chance to do it again.”

Connor nods, but doesn’t say anything.

There’s a bit of a silence there, unsaid questions and answers weighing in the tense air around them. Though, despite everything, Hank’s glad that Connor doesn’t seem  _ afraid  _ of him, per sé. It’s almost as if there’s some kind of unspoken trust there - one that Connor may not even understand himself, Hank guesses.

But Hank can tell. Connor isn’t inching away from him, or trying to get Hank to go away, or refusing to talk in fear. He seems to feel safe here in Hank’s presence, if the calm LED (save for the occasional flicker or change in color), gentle eyes, and even breaths of Connor’s stimulated breathing is anything to go by.

He knows Connor when he’s stressed. And clearly, for the most part, he doesn’t seem to be right now.

And so before Hank can even stop himself, words that he’s been debating whether or not to say are finally tumbling out of his mouth.

“You ready to come home?”

Connor’s eyes widen a bit. He cocks his head to the side as his eyebrows furrow ever-so-slightly.

“Home?” he asks.

Hank smiles meekly. “Yeah, home. You...You live with me, kid.”

Connor looks away for a second, face unreadable. Hank can practically hear the gears whirring in his head as he wraps his mind around it all, and fear starts to pound through Hank the longer it takes him to respond.

“Did the nurse say I’m okay to go?” he finally says.

Hank blinks, taken aback by Connor’s words. He wasn’t expecting that - if anything, he was expecting Connor to at least show some doubt in going home with Hank. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be the case, at least initially.

“Yeah, oh yeah, she did,” Hank blurts out. “Said you’re all good now, and your systems or whatever are all repaired. So...yeah.”

Connor offers him a gentle smile. “...Alright. May I get changed?”

Hank jumps up from the bed, nodding quickly. “Yeah, ‘course.”

Connor nods to his left as he sits up straighter in the bed. “There’s a dresser over there, and the nurse said my clean clothes are in there. Could you grab them for me?”

Hank nods and rounds over to the left of Connor’s bed. As he said, there’s a small wooden dresser there. In the first drawer sits Connor’s clothes folded neatly and free of any wrinkles. 

They’re the same clothes - white button up, black tie, black slacks - that were once bloody with thirium and stained with dirt. Yet, now, they’re as clean and pristine as ever, any physical evidence of that night wiped free from the fabric.

Hank pulls them out and carefully sets them on the edge of Connor’s bed. Connor immediately takes them, rubbing his fingers over the fabric and eyes scanning them carefully. Hank wouldn’t be surprised if Connor actually  _ was  _ doing his android-scan-thing and figuring out the exact percentages of each type of fabric material.

Hank smirks a little at the thought. Leave it to Connor to be as detail-oriented as possible even when it comes to fuckin’  _ clothing. _

“Alright, I’ll be outside and let you change,” Hank says, snapping Connor’s gaze back up to finallly meet his eyes. “I’ll be back in, what, ten minutes? Fifteen?”

“Ten is plenty,” Connor says. He then gives a curt nod. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hank bites his lip at Connor’s use of his title, trying to force the lump from building in his throat. His first thought is that he wants to correct him and tell him to call him ‘Hank’ instead.

But yet, the thought of Connor using the name ‘Hank’ just like he used to before, trying to pretend things are normal and everything is okay...The thought hurts. It hurts to think of the same Connor here who has no memory using Hank’s real name just like  _ his  _ Connor used to. Something about that tugs painfully on his heart, the idea too much to bear.

So instead, he simply nods, swallows, and opens the door.

“Anytime, kid.”

With that, he shuts the door behind him.

**_~~~_ **

In the meantime, Hank goes to the reception desk to check Connor out of the hospital and prove his relation to Connor so he can take him home. It’s a bit more difficult, considering Hank isn’t  _ related  _ to him by blood and he can’t use normal means to prove how he’s not just a random guy trying to a take home a man who just lost his memory, but the process isn’t too bad considering the android workers here have a system for androids who technically could never be related to anyone by blood. In the end, Hank proves his relation to Connor and is free to take him home.

He starts to head back to Connor’s room, but first, he grabs the Cyberlife jacket. It’s right where he left it, sitting on a heap by his chair.

After walking through the long hallway, he reaches the door and knocks, waiting for Connor’s voice on the other end to let him enter.

“Come in.”

Hank opens the door, eyes searching for Connor and finding him standing sideways by the window. His head is turned to watch the world outside while he finishes putting on his tie. His hair is neat now, curls mostly gone except for that one stubborn strand of hair that never fails to dangle in his forehead. The rest of his overall appearance is tidy and put-together, as well.

Not like someone who was just in a hospital for a few days.

Hank can’t help the sad smile crawling on his lips because seriously, what else could he expect from him? This is  _ Connor _ , for fuck’s sake, and neatness seems to be ingrained in his code.

At the sound of Hank’s approach, Connor glances over and offers him the hint of a small smile. He walks over, and his gaze quickly drops to the jacket in Hank’s hand.

“What’s that?” he asks, gesturing to it with a little nod of his head.

Hank holds it out to him. “It’s your jacket. Your Cyberlife one.”

Connor takes it from him, his fingers rubbing against the fabric. Hank watches as his eyes dance across every letter, every symbol, ever color and piece of it. In the end, instead of putting it on, he looks up to Hank with questioning in his eyes.

“Do you want me to wear it?” he asks.

Leave it to Connor to ask the most innocent questions and look even more innocent while doing so, those big brown eyes laden with nothing but softness and pure confusion.

Hank scoffs. “Connor, it’s up to you. It’s  _ your  _ jacket, for fuck’s sake. I don’t care.”

Connor looks down at it for a few moments, LED pounding a sudden yellow. He brings his eyes back up again as his LED cycles back to blue. 

“I just did some research on androids today and their common fashion trends in Detroit,” he says. “Since the revolution, a lot of androids have gotten rid of their Cyberlife issued clothing since it marks them as not human. Same with their LEDs.”

He stops there, so Hank prods, “And?”

Connor’s eyebrows draw together in pure confusion. “Well...Should  _ I _ wear it?”

Hank shrugs. “Depends if you want to or not. Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

Connor looks at the jacket again, and Hank can practically see the internal war going on in his mind. However, after a few quick seconds, Connor starts to wrap the jacket around his body and put it on.

He finishes, adjusting the collar and the sleeves as his usual finishing touch. He then glances up to Hank’s watching gaze.

“I just feel better with it on,” Connor says with a hesitant shrug. “I don’t know why.”

Hank smiles a bit, though his eyes crinkle in sadness. Some things about Connor seem not yet lost in that complex code of his. His strange desire for his Cyberlife clothing, his constant fidgeting and little quirks, his habit of always appearing well dressed and groomed. And…

And his trust for Hank.

Hank knows Connor could instead be terrified of him. Could refuse to go home with him and question whether they really ever were partners at all because how does he know he isn’t being lied to? He lost his memory - he has no proof of  _ anything _ , and he could simply decide to find a new life and distance himself from whoever these people are who demand that they’re close with him.

But yet…

His trusting in Hank doesn’t seem to be gone. It’s almost as if it’s still rooted in his code, like a weed that couldn’t be plucked free during the memory wipe. The memories are gone, sure, but the overall  _ emotions  _ and  _ feelings  _ attached to people and things…

They don’t seem to have been erased. Hank can’t explain it, and maybe he’s just imagining it. Maybe he’s just holding onto a false hope that could end in nothing but tears and grief and mourning.

But as they turn to exit the room and Connor tosses him that wide,  _ real _ type of smile that he only ever shows to Hank on rare occasions, the kind that reaches his eyes and crinkles them in the most human way Hank ever sees them, Hank decides that he’ll hold onto this hope no matter how grim things get and pray that it never slips out of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, gotta have some hope, right? i love writing angst more than a healthy amount, but not alllll angst. i’m not that bad of a person ;)
> 
> (alsooo come say hi on tumblr!! i’m beckkii <3)


	4. in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man for some reason, writing connor’s pov is so much harder than hank’s, so the first half of this chapter was definitely harder to write haha. but i hope i pulled through with it!
> 
> basically, this chapter is just connor dealing with some existential crises lol but hey, what else would you expect from an deviant android with memory loss?

Connor is missing something.

He doesn’t know what it is, and it frustrates him in a way he can’t even begin to describe. Whatever it is that he’s missing itches underneath his synthetic skin and nags him at the back of his mind, pestering him terribly but unable to be resolved. It weighs him down, floods his mind, tugs at his thoughts, overwhelms his systems - yet, he just  _ can’t  _ figure it out.

He feels it has something to do with the Lieutenant.

Because the thing is, an RK200 android, Markus, along with a WR400 android and PJ500 android named North and Josh respectively, all helped contribute to telling him about some of his past. While the nurse gave him basic facts - his real name being ‘Connor’ and not just RK800 anymore, his work status at the D.P.D., etc. - the other androids gave him more personal information about his past life. They told him about how he was the deviant hunter who became deviant, how he was against androids during the revolution and then ended up joining them, how he helped free their kind and change the world for androids forever. They told him about things that Connor knew, deep down, were huge chunks of his life that brought him to where he was today.

And then there was the Lieutenant.

He was silent as they talked, and he looked nothing short of uncomfortable. He looked almost...nervous, eyes flickering back and forth between Connor and the ground every few seconds as if trying to study the android without getting caught. He fiddled with the hem of his bulky jacket with one hand, and the other clenched and relaxed on an endless loop by his side. And while he looked like he  _ wanted  _ to say or do something, he instead chose to hold back in the end.

There was something about him Connor couldn’t place. Something in his systems, some kind of feeling stirring within. And when the three androids finally bid their goodbyes, obviously trying to leave Connor and the Lieutenant alone, Connor couldn’t help but feel nervous himself the moment the two of them made direct eye contact. His stimulated breathing stilled and LED began flickering a terrible yellow the very moment his eyes collided with that gentle blue gaze.

That gentle blue gaze that was  _ so  _ painfully familiar.

They conversed a bit, each word seeming hesitant and careful as if afraid to overstep some kind of boundary that was never truly made between them. It was stilted, maybe considered awkward, and Connor could tell that the Lieutenant felt uncomfortable. Certainly not because of Connor, of course - but more so the  _ situation. _

He did seem awfully upset over it. Over everything, from the initial incident to the repairs to the memory wipe.

For that reason, the whole time Connor considered telling the Lieutenant about the feeling - the feeling that something was missing, that a large part of his life was still left behind in the memory wipe and no one had told him yet - with the goal in mind to change the subject to something brighter. To something to have hope in, that maybe he could figure it out with the Lieutenant’s help and investigate what exactly it was he was missing.

After all, he  _ did  _ feel it involved the Lieutenant.

He finally spoke up about it, trying to read the Lieutenant’s face on the matter. However, the longer he looked, the longer he studied his face…

The feeling grew. The feeling of something  _ missing. _

And that’s when it happened again.

_ He walked towards Connor, footsteps crunching in the snow. His grey hair covered with light snowflakes wavered a little with each step, and when he finally stood right before Connor, a genuine smile lit up his wrinkled face. _

_ It was one of pride, Connor realized. Pride in Connor for not shooting the girl. _

_ “Well maybe you did the right thing.” _

A flash. Words slamming into his mind. A familiar voice, gentle and kind. Images that he’s never seen before, yet remembers all too well as if he had. It was all gone before Connor could truly grasp it. He knew his LED had flickered red, knew he looked about as confused as he felt, for the Lieutenant seemed on the cusp of questioning yet bit his tongue before prodding Connor.

He even looked disappointed. It hurt Connor’s heart more than he could explain.

Which was nothing, really. Connor couldn’t explain anything at all.

Everything was just so confusing _ ,  _ nothing made sense, and he was tired. So, so terribly tired, his systems aching for rest or a break or standby or  _ anything  _ just to stop them from being on edge for once.

And so when Lieutenant Anderson brought up getting out of this hospital, Connor was more than thankful to oblige.

Now, they trek through New Jericho together on their way to the Lieutenant’s car. They don’t talk, leaving them in an amiable silence as they walk. However, after several long moments of this, Lieutenant Anderson suddenly pipes up and shatters the quiet.

“This place is big as hell, huh?”

Connor turns to look at him. His blue eyes are dancing around the place, wide and shocked as they take in the sight. He’s not wrong - New Jericho certainly  _ is  _ huge. According to Markus, androids were given this place as a gift from the government for the mistreatment of their kind in the past. While it started out as a large warehouse, within months it was turned into a complex multi-story building equipped with living quarters, dining halls, a hospital wing, and more.

It’s very impressive, to say the least. And despite how it seems that almost every android in Detroit lives here, the place isn’t overcrowded - not by a long shot. It’s very homey, as well, flooded with nothing but positivity and contentment. The androids whom Hank and Connor pass by on their way to the car smile at them, greet them, show them nothing but kindness and appreciation at their visit.

And yet…

“Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Anderson looks over at Connor. “Yeah?”

Connor is silent for a moment, his LED pulsing a soft yellow. He’s not sure if he should speak up, and when he decides to open his mouth in an attempt to, no words come out.

“Connor, what is it?” the Lieutenant prods, his brow furrowing.

Connor points his gaze at the floor for a second before pulling it back up, meeting Lieutenant Anderson’s eyes. And with a little shake of his head, he finally blurts it out.

“Why don’t I live here?”

The Lieutenant’s expression falters. He simply holds his gaze with Connor for a while, his lips pursing together in a straight line.

“You didn’t want to,” he finally says.

And that’s that. He doesn’t add anything more, and instead, he pulls his eyes away and stares straight forward. Connor wants to prod more - ask  _ why  _ he didn’t want to, why he threw away the choice to live in a home filled with his friends and other androids just like him, why he chose the Lieutenant to live with out of all people.

There’s that itch again. That itch that burns under his synthetic skin, that itch that he just can’t reach and get out of his mind.

He’s  _ missing  _ something.

Something important.

They leave Jericho, and the two of them walk out into the warm air outside. According to Connor’s information sensors, it’s a pleasant 63 degrees Fahrenheit with a light wind chill, and the sky is a deep blue speckled with sparkling stars. As they cross the parking lot towards where the Lieutenant parked his car, Connor’s gaze dances around the sky, his eyes wide in wonder.

He feels the Lieutenant’s stare land on him. “Nice view, huh?”

Connor’s mind stutters.

_ “Nice view, huh?” he said, eyes lingering overtop the railing. The beer bottle swung in his loose grip - Connor didn't even want to count the number of bottles he’d consumed so far that night. He added, “I used to come here a lot, before…” _

_ Connor watched him take a swig of his beer, waiting for him to continue that train of thought.  _

_ And when he didn’t, Connor narrowed his eyes and prodded, “Before what?” _

_ “Before…” he begun, gaze turning into something sorrowful. “Before nothin’.” _

Connor blinks. The Lieutenant’s eyes are still locked on him, waiting for him to respond, so Connor quickly nods. He can practically feel his LED pounding yellow on his temple.

“Yes,” he says a little too quickly. “It is.”

The Lieutenant’s eyebrows furrow. He cocks his head to the side, his gaze never leaving Connor. It burns into his synthetic skin, almost uncomfortably, and he shifts awkwardly under the intense pressure.

“Hmm,” is all the Lieutenant finally says. He draws his eyes away then, planting it instead on the car now a couple yards in front of them.

It’s an older car, the black paint chipped on the worn edges. Lieutenant Anderson unlocks it and gets into the driver’s side - or, more accurately, falls into the driver’s side as he sighs with clear exhaustion. Connor stands idly for a few seconds in slight hesitation before Lieutenant Anderson looks up from his seat and balks at the android.

“You gonna get in the car or what?” he huffs out in a half laugh, though it’s awfully empty.

Connor quickly nods his head. “I’m coming.”

He moves to the passenger’s side and ambles his way into the seat, folding his longer legs in to fit correctly. The seat, however, almost seems to be molded  _ exactly  _ in Connor’s shape, almost as if worn down by Connor’s body over a long period of time. He stares curiously at the seat, fingers racing over the rough edges that mold to fit him scarily perfect.

He doesn’t know why, exactly.

The Lieutenant starts the car, and the engine roars to life. The radio does as well - low jazz tunes flood the car, their beats soft and soothing yet upbeat at the same time. Lieutenant Anderson turns the volume up a bit and then relaxes his hands against the steering wheel as he starts to peel out the parking lot.

Connor’s LED flickers. He likes the music; however, he can’t place why. There’s something to them that makes him feel good, makes him want to bob his head to the beat of the music and-

_ “You look ridiculous,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth as they glanced over at Connor before returning to the road. He bounced rhythmically a little in his seat, head rocking back and forth gently in sync with the jazz pouring through the car radio. “You’re not even moving your head to the beat, for fuck’s sake.” _

_ Connor smiled a little at that. “I like the music, yes, but I don’t know how to dance or anything of that sort. It’s not in my program.” _

_ “Well, add it, then,” he simply responded with a shrug.  _ _ Connor tossed him a bothered look at that, and so he continued, “C’mon, Con. Just loosen the fuck up, alright? You look as stiff as a piece of cardboard.” _

_ “I don’t know how to ‘loosen the fuck up,’ as you put it,” Connor answered, his tone teasing. “It’s alright, Hank. I’m still enjoying the music. I don’t need to move or anything to prove that.” _

_ “Okay, well, it’s more enjoyable that way,” he explained. “Just...let the music move you, y’know? Bob your head a little, whatever. Just stop looking like a fucking statue in your seat for once.” _

_ Connor furrowed his eyebrows, LED flickering yellow. He manually relaxed his muscles and bobbed his head a little to the beat of the music. It was terribly stiff and nothing short of awkward, but when Connor glanced over, his partner was smiling softly at him. _

_ “That’s it,” he encouraged, words light on the brink of laughter. “Just like that, Con.” _

_ It got easier, much to Connor’s surprise. He found himself grinning as well as the music bounced through his mind and coursed through his veins. It really did feel good. And before long, both of them were dancing overdramatically to the music, laughter on their lips and rare wide smiles on their faces. _

_ “You know, Hank,” Connor said breathless between laughs, “I’m aware that a while ago I said I liked heavy metal, but I was lying. I just wanted to relate with you on something. Jazz is much better, in my opinion.” _

_ He huffed out a chuckle at that. ”You’re not alone on that, kid.” _

“Uh, Connor? Hello?”

Connor snaps to attention. His eyes dart over towards the Lieutenant, who’s leaning slightly forward and staring intently at him.

“You alright?” he continues, his words soft. He gestures towards Connor’s temple, picking up one hand off the steering wheel to wave in its direction. “Your LED thing is goin’ crazy.”

Instinctively, Connor brings a hand up to touch it as if to soothe it. He glances at his reflection in the window mirror, and it seems Lieutenant Anderson was right - his LED is flickering a bright red before settling back to yellow.

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “I’m alright. I don’t mean to worry you.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem convinced - not in the slightest. He leans back a little in his seat, hands resting limply overtop the steering wheel. All the while, his pointed gaze studies Connor, eyebrows furrowing and frown deepening.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

Connor shakes his head again. “No, nothing. I’m okay, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Anderson breaths out a sigh then, long and heavy. Finally, he shifts his gaze back out the windshield as he makes a left turn onto a busy road.

“Fuckin’ traffic,” he murmurs under his breath with a roll of his eyes.

Their conversation dies at that, and nothing but the tune of jazz fills the car.

Connor takes this opportunity to try to grasp on whatever it was that flashed before his mind. But it’s long gone now, slipping through his fingers like sand and lost to the depths of his memory core. 

And all Connor can do is wonder what the flash was even about in the first place, and why he finds himself gently bopping his head to beat of the jazz music on the radio.

**_~~~_ **

Before long, they roll into the driveway of what Connor presumes is Lieutenant Anderson’s house. It’s a quiet place with all of the lights off, and the windows are drawn. However, upon closer inspection, Connor catches sight of a large snout in the corner of one of the front windows. Barking soon starts up, its noise loud and booming in the otherwise sleepy street of houses.

“Looks like someone’s happy we’re back,” Lieutenant Anderson muses as he cuts the ignition.

They both step out of the car, and the Lieutenant leads the way to the front door. Connor can hear heavy panting and scratches on the door’s surface along with the occasional bark or whimper. The Lieutenant fumbles with the keys, but finally, he manages to get the door open.

Connor takes one step in and is tackled to the floor.

A whir of brown and white jumps upon him, and Connor tumbles to the wood floor at the sudden impact. His eyes shut instinctively, LED flickering a startled yellow, and he scrambles around to get away. But the heavy warm mass of fur is leaning upon him with all of its weight, its strong paws digging on Connor’s chest and slimy tongue licking all over his scrunched up face.

“Wow, you really had to rub it in that he’s the favorite, huh?” the Lieutenant says, presumably to the dog on top of Connor. As he speaks, Connor feels the weight slowly lift from his chest followed by a chorus of whimpers and light barks. Once the dog is fully off him, Connor carefully opens his eyes to find Lieutenant Anderson gently pulling back the dog by the collar to restrain him.

Connor blinks at the sight of the large dog - a St. Bernard, his quick scan informs him. He knows he should be scared. He was just pounced on by it, after all.

Yet...

He finds himself smiling. The grin spreads across his face, eyes crinkling ever so slightly. His chest blossoms with affection along with some kind of warmth that spreads throughout him, and before Connor can even register why, his hand is reaching out to pet the dog.

The dog takes it all in. Calmed down a bit, Lieutenant Anderson releases his hold on its collar, and it struts over to Connor before collapsing into his lap. Connor grins down at the dog, his fingers racing over its soft fur and scratching in certain areas that are clearly the dog’s favorite spots to be pet. 

Connor doesn’t know how he knew about those spots, but he did.

“I’m the favorite?” Connor muses as he glances up towards the Lieutenant. He finds him looking down at both of them carefully, something like a smile on his face though his blue eyes are crinkled with a kind of sadness that Connor can’t truly decipher.

He laughs a bit at that. “Yeah, kid. I took care of Sumo for, what, ten years? And then you come along and within a week  _ you’re  _ the favorite owner.”

Connor looks down at the dog, the grin still lingering on his lips. 

“Sumo,” Connor whispers under his breath as if testing out the word.

_ “Sumo! His name is Sumo.” _

_ The other machine Connor looked at him wide-eyed, panic spreading across his features. _

_ “I knew that too!” _

A large tongue swipes across his face again, snapping Connor out of his thoughts. He blinks rapidly, trying to grab whatever he was just seeing back to the front of his mind. But yet again, it slips from his grasp and can’t he held onto.

And all he can do is stare in confusion at the dog on his lap, LED flickering red and yellow, as the flash crumbles away from his vision and completely disappears.

Connor glances up to find Lieutenant Anderson walking towards the kitchen. He makes a direct beeline towards the refrigerator and pulls out a cold beer before popping it open and taking large gulpfuls of the beverage. Connor watches as something on the table catches his eye, and he stops mid drink to take a careful look at it.

Gently, Connor urges the dog - Sumo - off his lap. Clearly annoyed, he huffs out to display his frustration along with a low whine. But in the end, he obligues and trots off towards his food bowl in the kitchen. Connor gets up off the floor, wiping clumps of dog fur off his clothes, and goes to join Lieutenant Anderson in the kitchen and see what he’s looking at.

It’s a note resting atop the table.

_ Hank and Connor- _

_ Sumo was very good. I think he remembers me from before, which seemed to make him happy and put him at ease. He even let me take him on walks and everything. But it sure looked like he missed you two. He spent almost all of his time on the bed and couch whining. I’m sure he’ll be glad when you two return.  _

_ I hope you both feel better, and let me know when you two are able to return to work. The force misses you and hopes you’re doing well. We haven’t heard a report yet from New Jericho based on Connor’s health and his repairs, but we have from Hank’s doctors, and we’re glad to hear your bullet wound is healing nicely. _

_ Take care _

_ -Jeffrey _

After reading the note, Connor glances over at Lieutenant Anderson. He’s still reading it, and a small smile works onto his face. He huffs out a sigh and, probably finished with it, rests it back on the table.

“Who’s Jeffrey?” Connor asks. “Is he someone from the D.P.D.?”

Lieutenant Anderson nods. “Yeah, he’s the captain. A good friend of mine, too - that’s why he offered to take care of Sumo while we were away.”

Connor gives a curt nod in understanding. “I see.”

Lieutenant Anderson peers at Connor for a few moments, eyes wavering across his face and then his dirty clothes. His lips curls a bit in disgust, and Connor is about to speak out and ask what he’s looking at when the Lieutenant pipes up first.

“You gonna shower?” he asks. His lip that was once curled relaxes as he laughs a bit, saying, “You’ve got fucking dog slobber and fur all over you.”

Connor wipes his cheek, and sure enough, a shiny trail of wetness is left on his hand. He then shrugs and says, “I...I assume I could, yes.”

Hank nods his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. I’ll be making myself dinner in the meantime, alright?”

“Okay,” Connor agrees, turning around to head towards the bathroom.

Though, he can’t help the slight hesitation that lingers in his steps. Something about this feels almost like he's intruding, like he’s  _ bothering  _ the Lieutenant for using his shower. For coming home with him, for petting his dog, for being a part of that note, for  _ everything.  _ He knows that’s not the case, of course - this used to be where he lived, Connor’s aware. And the Lieutenant has been the opposite of uninviting - to be honest, he’s been  _ more  _ than eager to bring Connor here.

_ Still. _

He feels guilty, somehow. The walls of this house feel familiar, yet foreign. Sumo feels like an old friend, yet a stranger. The furniture feels inviting, yet distressing.

He just wants to  _ remember _ it.

Whatever this place used to be, he knows for a fact it was one that he and the Lieutenant shared together. One that was full of memories Connor can’t grasp, can’t put together, can’t understand.

If only he could remember what those memories were that made this building not just a house, but a home.

**_~~~_ **

The bathroom is tidy and neat, looking recently cleaned. It’s simple as well, and the shower is easy enough to maneuver and get started. He turns on the spray, adjusting the temperature nozzle to on a warm setting.

However, when he runs his hand under the water to test the temperature, it’s freezing cold. He’ll have to wait for it to warm up if he wants it to be comfortable.

In the meantime, Connor strips his clothes off. He goes piece by piece, folding each article of clothing and setting it neatly on the ground as he goes. Before long, the last thing he has to take off are his socks, and-

He stops. His eyes catch something on the wall he doesn’t know how he missed upon entering.

It’s sticky notes.

It’s an odd sight - and not just the fact that there are sticky notes all over and around the mirror. No, it’s the fact that half of them are in a messier handwriting, while the other half are in perfect Cyberlife Sans font. Connor inches closer, trying to get a better look at the words.

He starts with reading the ones in the messier handwriting.

_ SHAVING or NOT _

_ I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like YOU _

_ Connor if u r reading this, stop fixing your hair it looks fine _

_ Keep Smiling _

_ Hey Connor - practice in this mirror how to smile like a normal person instead of a weird creep _

_ Need a BREAK _

_ Petition for quitting my job _

_ Brush your teeth from sampled blood - reminder for Connor _

Then, Connor reads the notes in Cyberlife Sans font. Each one is posted right beneath a corresponding note of the messier handwriting, almost as if it were a followup message.

_ To-Do: Buy new razors _

_ No, you are just grumpy _

_ It only takes me approx. 4.974 minutes each morning to fix my hair, Hank _

_ Even on the bad days _

_ But I know you love my smile :) _

_ 6:30 p.m. - Walk in the park with Sumo?  _

_ Can’t quit with how far you’ve come _

_ No _

Connor’s LED flickers yellow as he rereads the messages plastered on the sticky notes, again and again and again. He doesn’t know how long he’s been rereading them, but he just can’t seem to make sense of them. So in the end, he simply gives up.

A quick test of the water, too, informs him that it’s warm enough to get in now. He finally takes off his socks, setting them neatly on top of the folded pile of the rest of his clothes on the floor, and steps in the shower.

It’s a pleasant feeling, the water trickling off his skin. He simply stands under the warm spray for a while to soak it all in. He doesn't want to hog all the hot water, of course, so he takes the slippery bar of soap and lathers it onto his skin, taking extra care to clean his face that was slobbered on. After he finishes that, he goes to work shampooing his hair - he knows he technically doesn’t have to, considering his hair is synthetic and doesn’t produce natural oils like a human’s would, but he does so anyway. He knows it’ll make him feel overall cleaner in the long run.

As he finishes rinsing off under the water’s spray, Connor faintly hears the sound of the door carefully opening. There’s gentle footsteps in the bathroom outside the shower curtain, and Connor considers peaking out to see what’s going on. Instead, he simply waits. The footsteps then fade away, and the door carefully shuts behind them.

Connor, having finished rinsing, turns off the spray and pulls open the curtains. There, resting on the floor where his dirty clothes were, is a large grey hoodie and blue men’s pajama shorts. A white fluffy towel sits folded beside the articles of clothing as well, and Connor takes it to dry his body off. It’s warm - must’ve just come out of the dryer.

Once dry, he hangs the towel up on a nearby rack and starts to put on the clothes which are equally as warm. He first puts on the shorts, and then he grabs the hoodie, taking a quick passing glance at the faded D.P.D logo on the front before going to put it on.

He freezes. He brings his eyes back to the logo, now intently staring at it.

It almost…

It almost looks…

_ Connor looked up from the logo and locked eyes with him, LED cycling yellow. _

_ “I can keep it?” Connor asked. His tone was incredulous, yet spiked with excitement. “Are you sure, Hank?” _

_ “You wear it all the fucking time anyway,” he answered with a wave. “Might as well call it yours now.” _

_ His partner did have a point; Connor wore the hoodie very often, after all. The only thing that made it considered not his was the fact that he had to ask to borrow it every time he wanted to wear it. _

_ Which was practically every other night. _

_ Connor smiled and threw the hoodie over his head. It was completely oversized on him, the sleeves awfully baggy and the hem of the hoodie meeting the middle of his thighs, but Connor didn’t care. He loved how warm it was, how it made him feel safe. _

_ How it made him feel at home. _

“Hey, Connor?” 

Connor jerks to attention at the sound of a voice outside the door paired with gentle knocking.

“Yes?”

“You okay? You’ve been in there for a while,” the voice continues. It takes Connor a few seconds to realize it’s the Lieutenant’s voice - a bit embarrassing to have taken him that long to realize, Connor knows.

Connor nods frantically, haven’t forgotten the fact that the Lieutenant can’t see it on the other side of the door.

“Yes, I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor answers. “I’m just changing, but I’ll be done in a second.”

“Alright, just making sure.”

The sound of light footsteps fade away into nothing, and Connor assumes Lieutenant Anderson has left the door.

Connor looks back at the hoodie still gripped in his hand. He still hadn’t put it on yet, his mind stunned and synethic muscles frozen in place. How long he’s been standing there idly, he isn’t sure.

With a light shake of his head, he throws the hoodie on. It’s terribly big, practically swallowing Connor with his lithe stature and covering over half of the pajama shorts.

And yet…

Connor likes it. He likes the hoodie.

He doesn’t know why.

**_~~~_ **

Hank shoves the last bit of food into his mouth, eying the door carefully. 

Connor’s been in there for a long time - longer than he usually is, anyway. Whenever he showers, it always takes five or maybe ten minutes at the very most. But now, it’s been twenty minutes, and Connor  _ still  _ hasn’t come out.

His plate now empty and curiosity now getting the better of him, Hank gets up and goes to knock on the door.

“Hey, Connor?” he says as he knocks.

A brief pause. “Yes?”

“You okay?” Hank asks. “You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Yes, I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor answers on the other end. “I’m just changing, but I’ll be done in a second.”

Hank quirks an eyebrow. He can’t help but notice how Connor’s tone sounds a bit...off. It’s not confident or sure or  _ anything  _ that Connor usually is.

It’s...confused. Lost.

Hank considers prodding him on it. But instead, he just sighs to himself with a little shake of his head.

“Alright, just making sure.”

He leaves at that, trying to shake it all off. Maybe he’s overthinking everything. Maybe he’s worrying about nonexistent things and making up false problems in his mind.

But yet, all he can wonder through all of this is,  _ was giving him the hoodie to wear the best idea? _

Hank knows Connor likes it and finds it comfortable, so that seemed to be a good choice. It wasn’t like Hank was going to give him one of his work button-up shirts to wear for the evening, for fuck’s sake. 

But yet…

Hank can’t help but worry that maybe the  _ hoodie  _ is stressing him out. That maybe  _ that’s _ why his tone is so confused, so lost. That maybe giving him something that  _ clearly  _ used to belong to Hank - given the larger size and all - is stressing him out.

He doesn’t even  _ remember  _ Hank, and here Hank is, giving him one of his old hoodies to wear as if that’ll put him at ease.

Hank sighs. His mind is spinning, guilt crawling up in his stomach, and he’s so focused on worrying whether he made a mistake or not that he doesn’t even hear the bathroom door as it swings open.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank whips around to face the voice’s direction, and at the very sight of Connor in the hallway’s entrance, his heart shatters.

He looks so  _ normal. _

His hair is an unruly dark mess of slight curls, and his cheeks are flushed a light blue from the heat of the steamy bathroom - Connor has said before the phenomenon had to do with his systems’ automatic response to cool his biocomponents or something or whatever, hell if Hank could truly understand it. He’s wearing the D.P.D. hoodie, and it’s oversized length halfway covers the dark blue pajama shorts.

It’s terribly normal, Connor being dressed like that as if it was just a usual night where they’d watch movies together or something.

And it hurts Hank’s heart all the same.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Hank mumbles as he peels his eyes away, now focusing way too much attention than necessary on throwing away the paper plate he had eaten dinner on.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Connor’s prods, taking a step forward. “I detect a slight increase in distress based on your-“

“I’m just tired,” Hank breaths out, cutting Connor off.

He wants to ask Connor if  _ he’s  _ alright. With the hoodie, with what was taking him more time than normal in the shower, with  _ everything. _

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he simply turns around to face Connor. And not to his surprise, Hank notices that Connor looks equally as tired - in his own weird little android way, of course. It’s not like he can yawn or anything to show he’s tired like a human could. Instead, it’s the subtle way his posture is not as perfectly straight as it normally is, or the way his usually focused gaze goes a little hazy and glossed over.

“You can go lay down if you want, Connor,” Hank offers in a half chuckle. “I’m not keeping you up. You always go into standby on the couch - it’s all yours.”

Connor nods, albeit a bit more delayed than usual, and heads towards the living room. Hank leaves him to it because to be completely honest, despite how the kitchen clock says it’s only 10 o’ clock, Hank’s completely drained. All he wants to do is take a quick shower and crawl into bed at this point.

It’s been a long ass day, that’s for certain.

So with a final glance at Connor settling himself on the couch, Hank turns off the kitchen light and heads to the bathroom to take his shower.

**_~~~_ **

Hank can’t sleep.

It’s strange. There’s nothing keeping him up, after all. His room is the perfect temperature, he's able to get into a somewhat comfortable position in his bed even with the tender bullet wound on his thigh, Sumo has been quiet all night instead of barking at shadows, there’s no annoying lights streaming from his bedroom window -  _ nothing  _ should be keeping him awake.

On any other night, Hank would be perfectly fine sleeping like this.

But he just  _ can’t  _ right now.

So instead, he spends the next three hours tossing and turning, trying desperately to fall asleep. He does dip into a light sleep occasionally, but it’s short lived, leaving Hank frustrated and exhausted. He grumbles as he flips the pillow to the cool side every five minutes, and he kicks the sheets all over the place as he tosses back and forth that he has to fix them back into place almost constantly so he can be comfortable again.

It’s a never-ending cycle, and all Hank wishes for is to fall asleep and actually  _ stay  _ asleep, for fuck’s sake.

He just can’t get Connor off his mind.

All he can think about is how Connor’s feeling right now on that couch. Scared and confused from all that’s happened, certainly. Anyone would be in this situation. But does he at least feel safe? Comfortable? Not out of place? Is  _ anything _ in this home ringing a bell, or is he completely left in the dark, having no memory of it here? Does he  _ really _ trust Hank, or is he just playing along before he makes a run for it out of fear?

He just wants him to be okay.

And Hank just can’t stop worrying over the fact that maybe he’s  _ not _ okay, that maybe he’s terrified out of his mind in the living room as he stares at walls that feel nothing but foreign and lays on a couch that feels anything but comfortable.

But who knows? Maybe he  _ does  _ feel okay, and right now he’s calmly in standby dreaming of electric sheep or whatever the fuck he dreams about.

In the end, Hank sits up straight in the bed with a heavy sigh.

He can’t take this anymore.

With exhaustion stumbling his movements, Hank not-so-gracefully rolls out of bed. It’s pitch black in his bedroom, and Hank’s arms wave helplessly around as he tries to maneuver his way towards the door. His one hand finally finds the cool texture of the doorknob, and slowly, he turns it and opens the door.

It’s dark in the rest of his house, but it’s not nearly as dark as his bedroom, for bright moonlight seeps through his windows and provides ample light for Hank to use for direction. Quietly, in case Connor really is asleep, Hank takes light steps through the hallway and takes great care to ignore the creaky spots.

Slowly, Hank enters the kitchen and looks towards the living room; his eyes immediately float towards the worn couch where Connor goes into standby.

And there Connor sits fully upright, shirtless and dressed in nothing but those pajama shorts as he stares down at the hoodie in his hands.

Hank jumps a little and mutters a curse, startled at the unexpected sight, but Connor doesn’t even seem to notice. His eyes never waver from the hoodie, and the rest of his body is eerily still. His regulated breathing program doesn’t even seem to be turned on, which is something Hank has noticed over time that Connor sometimes forgets to activate whenever he’s extremely focused in a case or pile of paperwork. 

But now, it looks like he’s oddly focused on the hoodie.

“Connor?”

Connor snaps out of whatever trance he was in, jumping a little and turning to look at Hank in the kitchen with wide eyes. Hank can see his LED now - it’s a harsh yellow that pounds on his temple. His grip tights a little on the hoodie as well as he jumps.

“Uh, hello, Lieutenant,” Connor greets stiffly. He then cocks his head to the side and continues, “Why are you awake? It’s 1 a.m.”

Hank shrugs as he walks over to the couch from the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep.”

_ Because I was worried about you,  _ Hank wants to add.

But he doesn’t.

“Oh,” is all Connor responds with, his eyes tumbling back to the sweatshirt in his hands.

“What about you? Are you too hot in here or something?” Hank asks, waving a hand over Connor’s shirtless figure.

Connor shifts a little to the side to make room for Hank as he plops down next to him on the couch, and then Connor shakes his head, bringing his eyes back up to meet with Hank’s.

“No, my internal biocomponents would have to be over 106° Fahrenheit before I’d be so warm that I’d have to remove articles of clothing to let them cool,” Connor states evenly, as if that were the most normal sentence to say at one in the fucking morning. 

Hank raises a brow. “Okay, well, why’s it off then?”

And there’s that worry from before, growing in Hank’s gut and unable to be shaken off, on whether or not offering him the hoodie to wear was a bad idea.

Connor doesn’t answer at first. Hank catches a flicker of red in his LED before he turns away, the little colorful circle on his temple out of sight now. He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking in again on the hoodie in his grip. And finally, after a few long moments of silence, he speaks up.

“Is this my sweatshirt? One that you gave to me?”

Hank’s stunned silent for a moment.

He never told Connor about that. Never said, “Hey, here’s that hoodie I gave you a while ago even though it’s too big on you and it’s old ‘cause I’ve owned it for years now.” Never said, “Hey, I gave you the hoodie only ‘cause I could tell it made you happy for reasons I’ll never understand.”

He never told Connor  _ any  _ of that. 

Instead, he simply put it in the bathroom for Connor to change into after the shower. That was that.

“Uh, yeah,” Hank says slowly, trying to keep his tone even yet failing badly in doing so. “It is.”

Connor doesn’t respond to that. All they do is sit in silence with tension clinging to the air around them.

After a few moments of this, Hank shifts a little on the couch cushions and clears his throat.

“How…” he begins hesitantly, “...how did you know that?”

Connor looks back down at the hoodie, not saying anything at first.

“I’m not sure,” he finally answers, his words weak. “I just...know.”

And that’s that. Connor doesn’t add anything else, and Hank doesn’t prod him no matter  _ how  _ badly he wants to.

Which is, a lot. He wants to keep digging, keep pressing the android and figure out what  _ exactly  _ is going on in that head of his.

But he holds back.

Instead, he tries changing the subject, saying, “So, did you sleep at all?”

Connor shakes his head. “I tried going into standby, but my stress levels were too high - 76%, to be more precise. I realized it had something to do with the hoodie since it kept pestering me in my mind, that there was something I was  _ missing  _ about it. So, I took it off, trying to figure things out and lower my stress. But…”

“It didn’t, huh?” Hank finishes, and Connor nods.

“Looking at it and understanding what was nagging me about the hoodie only stressed me out even more,” Connor says. “And while of course my systems could always be forced to go into standby, that requires another android to interface with me so they could do it manually, and there’s no androids available. So, now I’m just waiting for my stress levels to lower.”

Hank chuckles a little, attempting a joke. “By continuing to stare at the hoodie?”

Connor looks at him, and a hint of a smile appears on his lips.

“Precisely,” he says, a touch of sarcasm hidden there.

Honestly, Hank isn’t too surprised by all this. He’s seen it happen before - Connor gets too stressed out over something, and then his systems or whatever don’t let him sleep. Which, to be honest, makes no fucking sense to Hank because it’s coding, so shouldn’t it just do what it’s told regardless of stress levels?

Despite that, according to Connor, “My systems are built with self-preservation coding, so I can’t go into a vulnerable standby mode while stressed because that could mean-” and blah blah blah, technology talk, blah blah blah. Hank doesn't even pretend to try to understand it, but in the end, he doesn't question it when it clearly affects Connor.

Instead, Hank’s gotten used to Connor crawling into his bed on those nights when he can’t go into standby alone on the couch. Hank doesn't mind - the bed is big enough for the both of them, and it’s not like Connor’s an annoying person to sleep with given that fact that he’s completely silent and practically unmoving. It also seems to make Connor happy, and he’s always able to fall asleep once he gets under Hank’s covers.

And as much as Hank would never admit it, he honestly really enjoys Connor’s company. It’s nice not to be alone in a cold bed for once and to instead have someone next to him. Someone warm, someone alive, someone who cares about him.

It’s a lot less lonely, and Hank really likes it.

He also really likes how it seems to make Connor feel better, too.

So before Hank can stop himself, the next words come pouring out of his mouth.

“You wanna sleep in my room for the night?”

Hank snaps his mouth shut, mentally slapping himself in the face. Of  _ course  _ he shouldn’t have asked that - not to someone who’s confused, overwhelmed, and doesn't even  _ remember  _ him. Hank knows he means well, only offering because he’s almost certain it’ll help Connor sleep - but will Connor see it that way? 

Probably not, Hank realizes.

Connor’s eyes go slightly wide, his body tensing even more so than before. It’s eerily creepy, seeing Connor literally not move a muscle with his stimulated breathing  _ still  _ deactivated. Hank can practically hear the gears whirring in his mind as he watches his LED pound yellow, and yellow, and yellow.

But all of a sudden, he nods. 

“I think not being alone might help, yes.”

Hank blinks, completely stunned. That was _ not _ what he was expecting, even though he had made the offer in the first place. But Connor, despite his pounding LED and hesitant expression on his face,  _ does  _ seem willing, and Hank won’t be the one to question it further.

If anything, it sparks that bit of hope again. Deep in Hank’s gut, it rekindles, that spark of hope and belief that maybe  _ some  _ part of Connor is still there. Of hope and belief that maybe some bits of memories and pieces of him are still dwelling within Connor, not yet completely lost.

Just maybe.

“Alright, c’mon, then,” Hank says as he stands. Connor puts back on the hoodie and follows suit, and together, they amble towards Hank’s bedroom.

Hank lets Connor enter first and then he shuts the door behind them, basking the room in complete darkness. Hank stumbles towards his side of the bed, arms wavering around in an attempt to maneuver his way, before his leg finally collides with the edge of the bed. He crawls in, finding the sheets gone cold from his time away from them.

As Hank settles under the sheets, he watches Connor’s almost invisible figure in the dark as he walks carefully to the other side of the bed. Hank can faintly see the yellow glow of his LED, and he watches the way it flickers unsteadily every few seconds. Finally, Connor makes it to the other side of the bed, and with somewhat hesitant movements, he crawls in under the covers.

Hank watches Connor carefully as he closes his eyes and takes a few seconds to get himself comfortable - he rests on his side facing Hank, body curled up ever-so-slightly. Hank studies his LED as it flickers yellow, and yellow, and yellow, and then-

Blue.

It’s the first blue Hank has seen since they’ve come home, if he’s being honest. Hank’s come to learn over time what the different colors mean - blue is content and healthy, yellow is processing and unsteadiness, and red is bad both health wise and mentally wise - and the fact that it was yellow all day  _ was  _ kind of worrying. Hank still doesn't know if it was because Connor was just processing everything or if he was stressed, but…

Now, Hank smiles a little to himself. Connor at least seems less stressed here - Hank watches as his tense muscles relax into the mattress and as he takes a deep breath, turning back on his stimulated breathing. He appears a lot more lifelike now - just like he usually does when he’s at ease.

Hank feels a lot better himself, as well. Having Connor physically next to him is much better than having him in another room where Hank has absolutely no clue how he’s doing. Hank rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling with heavy eyelids that promise he’ll  _ finally  _ catch some sleep.

But first, Hank turns his head to the side to peer at his partner and whispers, “Connor?”

He doesn’t answer. He must’ve finally gone into standby, and the reassuring thought allows Hank to bring his gaze back to the ceiling before shutting his eyes and falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was considering making the ending angsty but nahhhh i made it fluff instead, just for my own self care while writing it ;)
> 
> (come say hi on tumblr!! my user’s beckkii <3)


	5. distrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh to be completely honest, idk how i feel about this chapter, but oh well. it’s finished, it’s done, and i’m sick of rereading it myself at this point xD i hope you all enjoy it, though! maybe it’s just my own self doubt making me unsatisfied with it :/
> 
> anyway, this chapter is really getting the ball rolling for the overall conflict! i had to spice in some angst, too, because that’s my favorite thing to do hehe

Hank opens his eyes in the morning light, and the blissful unawareness that came with sleep shatters around him the moment his eyes land on Connor.

Connor is still in standby beside Hank, his eyes closed and LED flickering a pale blue. He hasn’t moved an inch since when he first fell asleep and is still resting on his side with his body curled slightly in. Hank, on the other hand, must have moved around a lot because all the covers are now on Hank’s side, seeming to have been unknowingly yanked off Connor throughout the night and leaving him exposed to the cold bedroom air. Connor doesn't seem to mind, though.

Hank’s face crumbles with sadness the longer he stares at Connor. He just looks so peaceful sleeping there, so fucking  _ normal,  _ that maybe Hank can pretend it’s a casual morning before work. Hank will make himself breakfast and watch Connor and Sumo as they play tug-of-war with one of Sumo’s chew toys, and then they’ll take him for a quick walk through the nearby park before heading to work. They’ll go on a new case and work together to solve-

A thud of pain in his wounded thigh jolts him out of his daydreaming, yanking him back to a harsh reality.

Hank shakes his head with a heavy sigh. One glance at the bedside clock tells him it’s seven in the morning - way too early to be up, especially since Jeffrey isn’t expecting him to go into work for today. So with that in mind, Hank lets his eyes close in an attempt to fall back asleep.

It doesn't work.

For whatever reason, Hank finds himself unable to catch a few more hours of sleep. He tosses and turns for several minutes, covers his head with his pillow to dull the rays of sunlight pouring through the window, pulls the blankets over his head to drown everything in complete darkness - but  _ nothing  _ works. 

In defeat, Hank resorts to sitting up with a grumble. 

He might as well just get up and start the day early.

Hank pulls himself out of bed, moving slowly so as to not disturb Connor. Before walking out of the bedroom, he carefully drapes the blankets - the ones Hank must’ve accidentally hogged all night - over Connor. Hank watches as his LED flickers yellow for a split second before calming back to a gentle blue, though he still doesn’t wake or move.

The rest of his house is peaceful as well, with Sumo sleeping silently on the couch where Connor usually is. Hank makes a beeline towards the coffee maker in his kitchen - if his body is forcing him to be awake  _ this  _ fucking early, he’s going to need some caffeine to make it at least tolerable.

Hank has just finished pouring himself a steaming mug of black coffee when the doorbell rings.

Hank quirks an eyebrow, whipping around to face the door. 

“Who the fuck…” Hank mutters under his breath. The rest of his sentence is cut off as he takes a swig of coffee, pulling a slight face as the liquid burns his tongue and throat.

The ringing continues  _ again _ , and for much longer this time _. _ Hank huffs out a sigh as he places his mug on the counter - a bit too quickly, unfortunately, for the coffee sloshes over the edges and drips down the mug’s sides. Hank curses under his breath and leaves the mess for now as he stumbles towards the door.

He yanks it open to find Markus standing there in his doorway.

“What the fuck do you want?” Hank bites, the scowl on his face growing by the second. He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest in wait.

He really has no reason to be so mean, but it’s early as hell, and Hank has never been a morning person.

Markus ignores the venom in Hank’s words as he simply smiles lightly, saying, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, for coming here so unexpectedly-“

“And at seven in the fucking morning,” Hank cuts him off with a pointed gaze.

“Yes, at seven in the morning. I’m sorry for that, too,” Markus finishes, that small smile wavering and threatening to slip. “But it’s important.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Important? What’s so important that you had to come here-“

“It’s about Connor.”

At that, Hank jerks to stand up straight as if the door frame he was leaning on had caught fire. His scowl drops his face, replacing instead with something akin to worry and slight eagerness.

“Yeah?” he croaks out. “What about?”

Markus glances past Hank into his home before pulling his gaze back. “May I…?”

Hank quickly moves to the side, allowing Markus room to enter. He nods and waves his arm in a welcome gesture as he mutters, “Yeah, yeah. Come in.”

Markus enters the house, his mismatched eyes darting every which way. It’s somewhat similar to Connor when he enters a new crime scene, though Markus’ stare is less harsh and analyzing and more so simply studying and taking everything in. He wanders towards the kitchen table, and at Hank’s nod of approval, he sits down at one of the chairs. Hank follows suit, sitting in the chair opposite of Markus.

“Where’s Connor?” Markus asks, his stare continuing to dance around the house.

“Sleeping,” Hank explains, “or, standby. Whatever the hell you guys call it.”

Markus nods in understanding, and his eyes then lock with Hank’s. The air freezes around them, and the words yet unsaid flood the room with tension that clings to their clothes and makes the walls feel as if they’re suddenly closing in. Hank stills in place as a surge of panic upticks up his heart rate, now thudding loudly in his chest.

“So...What is it?” Hank finally manages to get out, his words shaky in a way he never intended them to be. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s actually not a problem, per sé,” Markus explains. His tone is much more calm than Hank’s, settling his shaken nerves.

Only by a bit, though.

“I just remembered something that I figured I should tell you,” Markus continues. “Now, I know the nurse said that the memories were completely wiped, and since he doesn’t have them backed up, they can’t be restored. She  _ was _ right in saying that.”

“And?” Hank asks, shifting side to side in his chair. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, that’s only true if he wasn’t  _ deviant, _ ” Markus explains. “He’s clearly a deviant still - the memory wipe didn’t take that away from him, fortunately. And since he’s a deviant, I think it’s still possible he could get his memories back due to his emotional connections and responses to certain things from the past.”

Hank’s eyebrows furrow in question. “Okay, but how do you know that? I mean, that doesn’t make any sense-“

“I’ve seen it happen before,” Markus cuts him off as gently raises a hand, silencing Hank. “There’s an android, an AX400, who lives in Canada with her daughter and boyfriend. I helped her during the revolution, and we’ve been keeping in touch ever since.”

Hank doesn’t say anything. He simply purses his lips together, clenching his knuckles and relaxing them again and again atop the table as he waits for Markus to continue.

“She told me how, back when she was still on her journey to Canada with her daughter, she had her memory wiped by a man and was held captive in a house,” Markus says. “The thing is, as she was walking around the house and doing her tasks for the man, she started to have flashbacks of her and her daughter. And not too long after, due to the flashbacks, she regained her memory as if nothing had happened.”

Hank completely stills in his seat as everything clicks into place at once.

The way Connor studied Hank’s face that day in the hospital. The way he stared at the night stars and froze. The way he zoned out in the car when Hank put on the radio. The way he peered at Sumo as he pet him. The way he looked at the hoodie in his hands. The way his LED was always flickering an unsteady yellow and red, yellow and red, yellow and red like a strobe light whenever these things happened.

“Hank?”

Hank snaps to attention, only now noticing Markus peering at him carefully. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

Hank nods eagerly and swallows. “Yeah, I just...That’s been happening. The flashbacks, I mean.”

Markus raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well, I haven’t asked about it since I didn’t wanna overwhelm him or anything,” Hank explains. “So, I don’t know for sure. But I...I think so.”

Markus leans back in his seat and hums thoughtfully. He pulls his gaze away, and it lands on the floor as his eyebrows furrow together. Hank can almost hear the gears whirring in his mind, and if he had an LED, Hank’s certain it would be yellow by now.

“Well,” Markus says as he suddenly pulls his eyes back up, “That’s a good sign, of course. But…I mean...”

And just like that, his stare falls away again and points towards his clenched fists overtop the table.

Hank’s heart stutters at the way Markus’ words trail off. An empty pit of worry makes home in his stomach, gnawing on his insides and filling him with nausea. His nerves jump back to action, and his heart begins to pound, and pound, and pound in his chest.

“But what?” he manages to get out.

“The AX400 I was referring to had her memory come back within minutes,” he breaths out in a rush. “For Connor, it’s been, what? A whole day?”

Hank’s heart drops. He nods, his head suddenly feeling too heavy for his neck to support.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “It has.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Markus says. “I feel like he should’ve remembered by now. Either that, or he should very soon.”

Hank bites his lip, letting the hopeless words mull around in his head. 

“What if he doesn’t any time soon?” Hank asks. Though, if he’s being real with himself, he’s not sure he even wants the answer.

Markus sighs, opening his mouth to speak but pausing for a moment, the words dangling on the tip of his tongue.

“I’d say chances are, if it doesn’t happen any time soon, the memory wipe will be permanent,” Markus finally says, his tone quiet. “Of course, there's always the possibility I’m wrong. But if I’m going to be honest with you, I’m almost certain that if this goes on for any longer, he won’t get his memory back.”

Hank looks down then with a dejected gaze, now studying his hands that rest in loose fists overtop the table’s surface. The nausea in his pit grows, churning his insides and making him squirm in his seat. His head starts to pound as well, a light ache in the back of his skull that grows and grows with each passing minute.

Damnit, he wishes he had time to have coffee before this conversation.

“Well, what should I do?” Hank finally spits out as he glances back up. “Is there anything that could maybe help?”

Markus shrugs. “I mean, you could bring him to familiar places to jog his memory - places that he has an emotional connection to. That could be your best chance.”

Hank nods numbly in response and then heaves a sigh. He doesn’t say anything else, and the room fills with dead silence. They sit in the quiet for a few moments, listening to the occasional snore of Sumo’s from the couch and the morning chirp of birds outside.

“Yeah, once he wakes up, I think I will,” Hank says to fill the heavy silence. Markus nods once in understanding, and he then gets up from his seat.

“I should get going,” he says. “I’ll let you and Connor be, and I have to be back at New Jericho.”

Hank nods and gets up as well, and together, they head towards the front door. Once they reach it, Markus turns around to face Hank.

“I hope it all works out,” Markus says, his words gentle. He offers a small smile then, and his mismatched eyes crinkle slightly. “And I’m glad Connor’s in good hands.”

Hank shrugs as he aimlessly rubs the nape of his neck. “I don’t know. I worry I’m screwing things up all the time. But I...I just want him to feel safe. Not scared or anything with all that’s going on.”

Markus’ smile brightens ever-so-slightly.

“Lieutenant, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says. “The fact that Connor came home with you says a lot _.  _ Don’t doubt yourself.”

A blossom of warmth spreads throughout Hank’s chest, and his own little smile finds its way on his face. He opens the door then for Markus, and he steps out. However, before he heads towards the taxi waiting for him that he must've wirelessly contacted sometime during their conversation, he turns around one last time.

“Take care, Lieutenant,” he says kindly. “And tell Connor I said hello.”

Hank nods. “Will do.”

At that, Markus walks towards the taxi and gets in. Hank watches from the doorway as the taxi peels away from the curb and rolls down the street.

Hank sighs and shuts the door behind him. He leans against it for a second, his mind racing with how to properly digest everything he just learned and how the  _ fuck  _ he should approach all this.

When he thinks of important places that Connor’s emotionally connected to, his first thought is, well, home. Of course that’s out, considering they already  _ are  _ home and it hasn’t jostled his memory.

He then thinks of Cyberlife tower. That place was an important part of his life, after all. However, he quickly remembers that the place might have more of a negative connotation than positive, considering he had to fight his fucking evil  _ clone  _ there.

He considers the precinct next, but then again, there’s a lot of people there. People that will all bombard him with questions, ask how he’s doing, and overall probably stress him out when he can’t remember any of their faces. So that’s out, too.

Hank shakes his head, trying to clear the racing ideas before the growing headache gets worse. He walks directly to the kitchen counter where he left his coffee and goes to reheat it in the microwave.

He leans against the counter as he waits, listening to the gentle hum of the microwave as it warms his beverage.

And that’s when it hits him.

He knows  _ exactly _ where he wants to take Connor.

He just prays that maybe it’ll work.

**_~~~_ **

Connor wakes out of standby to the faraway sound of voices outside the bedroom.

His systems come online all at once, and he blinks his eyes awake. Lieutenant Anderson, whom he was facing during the night, seems to have left the bed. However, as Connor puts out a hand and pats the area, he finds it to still be warm. He must’ve left not too long ago.

Connor sits up in the bed, a warm blanket draping off his body and collecting in a bunched heap by his waist. Connor looks at the blanket in question - according to his brief standby history, he spent a large sum of the night in 68° temperature, which would mean he was exposed to nothing but the room temperature air. However, the blanket now on him would argue otherwise, as it would insulate heat and keep his body warm at a higher temperature, probably in the 75° to 80° range.

Had the blanket been put on him very recently?

Another chorus of voices pulls him out of his thoughts. He strains his audio processors, trying to better hear the words floating on outside.

There’s no success - all he can manage to make out is incoherent mumbling, though he  _ can  _ identify the sources of the voices. They seem to be Markus - the RK200 he met yesterday - and Lieutenant Anderson.

_ What are they talking about? _

Carefully, Connor gets out from under the covers and exits the bed. With light footsteps, he makes his way to the bedroom door and turns the doorknob slowly so as to mute any noise. He then opens the door a sliver, peeking out to see what’s going on outside.

From the slight opening, Connor can both see the kitchen from here, and he can hear the voices better, as well. He was correct in guessing who was talking, for Markus and Lieutenant Anderson both sit at the table, conversing.

The Lieutenant starts talking first. “Well, I haven’t asked about it since I didn’t wanna overwhelm him or anything. So, I don’t know for sure. But I...I think so.”

_ Asked about what? _

Connor inches closer to the door, his body now pressed against it so he can see and hear even better. He watches as Markus leans back in his seat and hums lightly. He looks almost frustrated, for a knot forms between his brows.

“Well, that’s a good sign, of course. But…I mean...”

Markus’ words trail away then, and Connor watches as the Lieutenant’s face visibly pales. Connor also does a quick scan, noting the sudden uptick in his heart rate.

The Lieutenant sputters, “But what?”

“The AX400 I was referring to had her memory come back within minutes. For Connor, it’s been, what? A whole day?” Markus rushes out.

Lieutenant Anderson looks defeated at that. He drops his head, mumbling, “Yeah, it has.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Markus continues. “I feel like he should’ve remembered by now. Either that, or he should very soon.”

Lieutenant Anderson looks hesitant to speak. Finally, he sucks a breath, opening his mouth with the next words lingering on the tip of his tongue.

“What if he doesn’t any time soon?”

Markus heaves a sigh he doesn’t require and then mutters, “I’d say chances are, if it doesn’t happen any time soon, the memory wipe will be permanent. Of course, there's always the possibility I’m wrong. But if I’m going to be honest with you, I’m almost certain that if this goes on for any longer, he won’t get his memory back.”

Connor doesn’t even have time to watch the Lieutenant’s response, for his own mind starts to pound with questions. They all race around in his head before he even gets the chance to settle them, his LED flickering yellow against his temple as his brain wracks itself in confusion. However, one prominent realization lingers there, sitting at the front of his mind and allowing him to put all of his attention on that one.

_ “I’m almost certain that if this goes on for any longer, he won’t get his memory back.” _

The realization thuds painfully in his figurative stomach, and his LED flickers a sudden crimson before settling back to yellow.

He has a chance for his memory to come back.

He actually has a  _ chance. _

But…

He’s running out of time.

“Well, what should I do? Is there anything that could maybe help?”

The Lieutenant’s words drag him back to reality, and now paying attention, Connor watches as Markus gives a measly shrug. 

“I mean, you could bring him to familiar places to jog his memory - places that he has an emotional connection to. That could be your best chance.”

The Lieutenant nods at that, and the room goes quiet. Connor waits in his own silence, holding his breath so as to remain undetected.

The Lieutenant finally breaks the quiet first.

“Yeah, once he wakes up, I think I will.”

Markus gets up then with a curt nod, saying, “I should get going. I’ll let you and Connor be, and I have to be back at New Jericho.”

Lieutenant Anderson stands up from his chair and nods in confirmation, and Connor watches as they amble towards the front door. He can’t see them anymore from his spot by the bedroom door, and while he hears some more light conversation continue, he can’t hear that now, either. 

And all Connor can do is stand there with a pounding LED, his body pressed tightly against the door, as the realization continues to spin, and spin, and spin in his frazzled mind.

He’s running out of time.

And there’s  _ nothing  _ he can do.

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t require, trying to calm his spiking stress levels. Bits of hope were there last night - the sudden strange flashes, the realization of the hoodie - and while he didn’t want to say anything, he  _ did  _ feel better about everything. It felt nice to be in the Lieutenant’s company for the night, as well; it was familiar for reasons he couldn’t place, but familiar nonetheless. And now, even  _ Markus  _ said he has a chance - a chance to get his memory back.

But yet…

The words of urgency come back at him, shuddering his synthetic nerves once more.

_ “I’m almost certain that if this goes on for any longer, he won’t get his memory back.” _

They’re right - it’s been a day. A  _ whole _ day. And according to Markus, there was another instance of a memory wipe that was recovered, sure, but within mere  _ minutes. _

Dread piles up in Connor’s figurative gut, and he stumbles back from the door, taking even breaths. He knows his stress levels are rising; he  _ needs  _ to stay calm.

But…

In the end, he shakes his head and opens the door. He doesn’t know what to do, how to approach this. He doesn't even know where to  _ start. _

But all he  _ does  _ know is that he doesn't want to be alone right now.

He walks into the kitchen to find Lieutenant Anderson with his back to Connor, mid-process of pulling a mug out of the microwave. A quick scan tells Connor it’s black hot coffee that contains traces of caffeine. He doesn’t seem to notice Connor behind him, so he speaks up.

“Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Anderson whips around then. His eyes widen slightly as they dance over Connor in a sweep.

“Oh, hey, kid,” he says. He then cocks his head slightly to the side, “Um, how long have you been awake?”

_ Long enough to hear you and Markus,  _ Connor thinks.

“Oh, I just woke out of standby,” Connor lies. He feels his LED stutter red on his temple at the fib, and he prays that the Lieutenant doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t seem to, for his attention is now placed on his coffee as he takes a sip. He swallows and then hums, the sound emitted by the mug that lingers on his lips before he places it on the counter.

“Uh, I was wondering,” he begins as he brings his eyes up to meet Connor’s, “You okay with maybe going out today? I mean, I don’t know. I was thinking it might be nice to get out of the house.”

Connor can’t help the darkness that crosses over his features. The Lieutenant’s lying, Connor knows. This isn’t just some trip to “get out of the house.” He heard what the Lieutenant said to Markus - he said he was going to take him somewhere to try and jog his memory.

Connor isn’t stupid.

“I mean, I totally understand if you wanna stay here,” Lieutenant Anderson quickly explains, having noticed Connor’s sudden shift in expression. He almost looks apologetic. “But...I don’t know. I was just wondering.”

At first, Connor doesn't know how to respond. After all, Markus  _ did  _ say that bringing him to familiar places could give him a chance to jog his memory. But then again…

The possibility that it wouldn’t work, that it would do nothing, is more terrifying than anything.

He’s running out of time.

“Connor?”

Connor blinks, having realized he was completely zoned out and staring at the floor. He meets the Lieutenant’s gaze then - his blue eyes are soft, melted into something full of concern.

“You okay?” he continues. Awkwardly, he rubs the nape of his neck. “We don’t have to go, you know.”

Connor hesitates.

He knows deep down that this could end either really well or really badly. He could either possibly get his memories all back from this place, or he could not and realize finally that it’s a lost cause. That no matter what he does or where he goes, the faint memories he’s receiving aren’t helping - they’re getting him  _ nowhere. _

And that he truly is out of time.

Connor sucks in a breath, letting the decision mull around in his mind. His LED pounds, and pounds, and pounds, and then…

Connor nods.

“I want to.”

The Lieutenant’s eyebrows raise. “You do?”

Connor nods again, more confidently this time. “Yes, I do. It’d be nice to get out, I think.”

The corners of Lieutenant Anderson’s mouth pull upwards a bit. He gives a confirming nod, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“Alright, let's get ready then.”

**_~~~_ **

Hank takes a swig from his travel mug of lukewarm coffee before turning right onto an empty street.

He’s not surprised it’s completely barren. This area is away from the hustle and bustle of the crowded city, and it’s still pretty early, as well. The morning’s sun rays spill a golden hue across the horizon, accenting the orange, red, and brown of the early autumn leaves that fall from the trees.

Hank takes a side glance to Connor in the passenger’s seat, whose curious eyes seem locked onto the colorful trees that the car whirs by. Connor’s dressed in the hoodie still, but instead of pajama shorts, he now wears regular dark blue jeans. Today is a bit colder, after all, even though last week was awfully warm. 

September sure can’t seem to make up its mind on the weather.

Hank draws his eyes back to the road as he takes another right. He knows he’s getting closer to the destination they’re heading in, and a nervous feeling starts to build in his gut. He shifts uncomfortably in his worn seat, trying to push the feeling away, but to no avail.

He just prays that this will work.

After a few short minutes, Hank pulls into their destination. It looks the same as it always does - a small play area to the side, a railing overlooking the water that laps peacefully, a large bridge in the distance, Detroit’s skyline hovering on the water’s edge.

It’s the bridge.

It’s a place that Hank took Connor during their first investigation together after the Eden Club case all those months ago. However, that’s not the only time they’ve been here. In fact, over the months, it’s been a place that Hank and Connor frequent every weekend. They always stop at a burger place nearby and then come here, sitting on the bench and overlooking the sights as they chat about anything and everything.

And most importantly, it should be familiar to Connor.

Hank cuts the ignition and gets out the driver’s side, and Connor follows suit. Hank leads him to the bench, sitting himself atop the hard surface with a sigh. Connor slowly sits down next to him, almost cautiously, and he glances around the area to take it all in. His gaze then rests overtop the railing, staring at Detroit’s skyline with a flickering LED.

“It’s...pretty,” Connor comments. “I like it here.”

“Yeah, it is,” Hank says.

They fall into a comfortable silence then. Hank waits, taking an occasional side glance towards Connor every few moments. He prays to catch sight of some kind of hint, some kind of sign, that  _ maybe  _ he’s remembering. That maybe this place is familiar, if only a little.

They’re running out of time, Hank knows.

This is their best chance.

Time drags on, and the quiet becomes heavier with each passing minute. Connor starts to fidget beside Hank, squirming in his spot and rubbing his hands together. He then starts to pick at the cuffs of his sleeves, biting his lips as if on the cusp of saying something but holding back all the while.

“Connor?” Hank prods, his voice gentle. Reassuring. “You okay?”

Connor freezes in place. All of a sudden, he turns his head to face Hank. His chestnut eyes are narrowed, almost cold, and the moment they meet with Hank’s, the world comes to a stop around them.

“Lieutenant, why exactly did you bring me here?”

Hank’s heart stutters.  _ To try to make you remember,  _ he wants to admit.  _ To try to have some hope. To try and maybe, just maybe, fix everything like that other deviant AX400 was able to. _

_ Because the thought of you never remembering me again is too much to bear. _

“No reason,” Hank stammers out, furrowing his eyebrows to try and look convincing. It’s not working too well, he’s certain. “I just thought you’d like to get out, you know?”

Connor shakes his head. Flashes of anger harden his features, and his LED begins to flicker yellow as he hands tighten into balled fists on his lap.

“That’s not true.”

Hank’s blood runs cold. “What? Yes, it-“

“No, it’s not!” Connor snaps. He jumps up from his seat, shaking his head all the while. “It’s not true.”

Hank follows suit, standing up from his seat as well. However, he tries to do so in a calmer manner, and he hovers a hand out towards Connor in a soothing gesture. Worry is starting to overcome Hank, but he has to stay calm, stay calm for Connor’s sake, let him know that he can  _ trust him.  _ He doesn't want his stress levels to raise, and he can already tell they’re beginning to spike.

“Connor, listen to me-“

“Why are you lying to me?” Connor spits out, and just like that, the anger in his face breaks. It turns into something akin to betrayal, to hurt, to…

Distrust.

Hank’s face falls at the sight, guilt creeping up in his body and forming tight knots in his chest.

This was a bad idea.

“You brought me here to remember, didn’t you?” Connor says. His words have softened, though his expression still displays nothing but that pain that swallows Hank with wave after wave of guilt.

“I…” Hank begins, words trailing off with the light wind. He swallows, trying to clear his throat from the painful lump that’s been forming there.

“...Yes. I did,” he finishes.

Connor’s gaze slips away from Hank, tumbling to the ground. His LED begins to flash faster and faster, yellow cycle upon yellow cycle upon yellow cycle.

“I heard you and Markus talking this morning,” he says. “And I heard about the other android. The AX400.”

Hank sucks in a breath. Of course he heard. Of course he fucking heard.

“So…” Hank begins, his words uneasy. “So you know? About how she was able to remember?”

Connor nods and closes his eyes, letting out a breath he doesn't need.

“But...But it’s not  _ working  _ for me!” Connor cries out as his eyes snap open, unsteadiness causing his voice to break. His gaze darts over towards Hank as he continues, his tone rising with each word, “These flashes keep happening, but then they’re gone. Just like that. And everything is so familiar, but I can’t place my finger on it, and I just-“

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Hank consoles. Connor’s clearly stressing himself out and that’s bad, this is  _ bad.  _

This was  _ such _ a bad idea.

Hank continues, his words soft, “It’ll be okay. Just take it-“

“I know I’m running out of time,” Connor cuts him off, and all of a sudden, his LED flickers red. A harsh, fiery red that pounds on his temple and freezes Hank in place.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not working. You brought me here, knowing it’s probably my last chance and hoping it would work, but it didn’t. It didn’t work,” Connor says. His words waver terribly, and Hank watches as a sudden sheen of tears spring into his eyes, LED refusing to flash away from red.

This is bad, this is  _ bad. _

Connor never cries. Never for the past several months Hank’s known him. Yet here he is, clearly on the verge of sobbing all because Hank decided to take matters into his own hands like the dumbass he is. He should’ve kept Connor home, should’ve never tried to force the memories back, should’ve waited some more time, simply kept him where he’s comfortable and not dragged him out the house.

Of  _ course _ Connor’s stressed out - who wouldn’t be?

And with regret slapping Hank in the face, he realizes it’s all his fucking fault.

He takes a careful step forward, slightly outstretching a hand again. “It’s okay, Connor. We still have time. You don’t have to-“

“Markus said it himself! It’s been too long. And...and I’m…I’m not getting them back. I…”

Connor stops talking as those stubborn tears once wavering in his eyes begin to spill. They start as a small trickle, a couple tears here and there that fall. But before long, they stream down his face, rush after rush of tears that never seem to end. 

Hank doesn’t know what to do. He simply stares at Connor, his blue eyes melting in concern. He’s  _ never _ seen Connor truly cry before - of course, he’s seen him on the verge of tears before, a sheen of tears in his eyes that waver there, but he always blinks them away before they spill. But now, as he watches while tears gush down Connor’s face and while his body shudders with each sob in such a helpless way, Hank’s heart tightens almost painfully in his chest.

“I’m stuck here, with all these flashes and feelings, b-but I can't even make the final breakthrough,” Connor manages to get out between sobs. “I keep trying, hoping I’ll remember, but it doesn't work. I don’t know  _ anything _ , and I’m so...so scared, and…and unsure, and I feel like maybe I should leave you because I don’t want to hurt you. But then...But...”

Connor takes in a shuddering breath, and he looks at Hank in the eyes with so much pain hidden there that Hank’s breath catches at the sight.

“But I don’t  _ want _ to leave you. Because the only thing I know is that when I look at you…” Connor cries out before another round of tears cuts him off. He opens his mouth to speak again through the sobs, and each unsteady word breaks that he manages to get out.

“...My systems tell me I’m home.”

Hank’s heart stops.

He wants to reach out. He wants to embrace Connor in his arms and tell him it’s okay, that he’s always here, that it doesn’t  _ matter  _ if he can’t remember and that what only matters to him is that Connor feels safe and important and never alone. The urge is overwhelming, the urge to wrap his arms around Connor and the urge to hold him for as long as he needs.

But he doesn’t.

He holds back and simply stares at Connor with eyes packed with concern, a spring of tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away and swallows the painful lump in his throat to speak.

“Connor, I-“

“Can we go back to the house?” Connor croaks out, his voice hoarse with tears in a way that Hank has never heard it before. He wipes the tears away, mumbling, “Please?”

Hank freezes for a few seconds with his mouth still open, words lingering on the tip of his tongue. In the end, however, he nods numbly, his mouth snapping shut. And together, with a tense silence draping over them, they walk back towards the car waiting for them.

On the short walk there, Hank considers one last time to pull Connor in for a hug. That maybe it’ll ease Connor’s nerves, that’ll maybe it’ll make him feel better and less alone in everything. That maybe it’s worth taking the risk of scaring Connor away at the sudden closeness in hopes that it’ll help.

But he doesn’t.

He holds back yet again, and they get into the car without saying a word before driving back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i may have made the ending of this chapter a bit angsty, my mistake...
> 
> (come say hi on tumblr!! i’m beckkii over there <3)


	6. goodbyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the later update! i was super busy this week with my job and all
> 
> i actually cut this chapter short and revised my overall plot, so i’m adding on two more chapters, making it 9 now. this one is kind of a filler, but still important :) the next chapters will have a lot more action dont worry haha

A heavy silence floods the car on their ride back home, but as much as Hank tries to find some way to break it, he just can’t seem to figure out how.

Connor is slumped to the side in the passenger’s seat, his body limp as if too tired to hold it upright like usual. His glazed over eyes wander around as they take in the sights outside the window, and his LED spins yellow cycle upon yellow cycle on the window’s reflection. The tear tracks on his face have long since dried; yet, Hank can still see them etched in his mind, and nauseating guilt continues to swim around in his gut the longer the memories of those tears stay.

This was a mistake.

He knows he should’ve just kept them both home. Shouldn't have tried to force memories, shouldn’t have put him in uncomfortable situations. That’s the  _ last  _ thing Connor needs right now.

He needs comfort. Certainty. Trust.

Not…

Not whatever bringing him to the bridge was.

Hank shakes his head at himself as they turn onto the street leading straight home. And to be completely honest, he isn’t even sure what they’re going to do once they  _ get  _ home. They can’t just go inside and chill while watching old movies like they used to. They can’t decide to go for a walk with Sumo while they talk about anything and everything, laughing at the way Sumo dumbly chases after the birds even though they can easily fly away while he’s ridden to the ground.

They can’t do that. Especially not with the heavy tension that clings to the air around them and refuses to let them go.

Well, the first step to  _ anything _ is breaking that and easing the nerves between the two of them, Hank knows. So as they roll into the driveway, he cuts the ignition, but he doesn’t get out.

Connor seems to jostle out of whatever stupor he was in at the car’s halt. He blinks to attention and looks over to Hank, confusion furrowing his eyebrows together.

“Lieuten-“

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

Connor snaps his mouth shut at Hank’s words, his coffee eyes going wide for a second as he processes. His LED flickers unsteadily by his temple before calming into an easy blue again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he finally says. “I understand why you took me there. You were hopeful, and you-“

“That doesn't make it right,” Hank says, bringing his gaze to rest on his hands. They’re clinging onto the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, and he releases the pressure as he speaks. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about where we were going. And I shouldn’t have pushed you to remember. That’s the  _ last _ thing I should’ve done.”

Connor doesn’t say anything, and Hank takes that as a sign to continue.

“So, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he finishes. He brings his eyes back to meet with Connor’s, and the pure gentleness in those mocha eyes is enough to squeeze Hank’s heart almost painfully and send another burst of remorse throughout his body. He bites his lips and looks away again, not wanting to gaze into those eyes anymore.

There’s a bit of silence at first, but finally, Connor speaks.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me.”

Hank chuckles emptily at that, shaking his head side to side.

“You don’t have to fucking apologize for  _ crying _ , Connor,” he says, words light with dry humor. He finally gains the courage to meet Connor’s gaze again, and he looks over at him to make eye contact. “You were stressed and upset - it’s normal to cry ‘cause of that. You don’t have to say sorry for it.”

A small, almost sad smile pulls on the corners of Connor’s lips.

“I understand,” he says with a gentle nod. “I’m just...I’m embarrassed that I cried, so I thought apologizing would make me feel less embarrassed.”

He pauses, looking away for a split second before bringing his eyes back.

“It didn't work very well,” he finishes.

A full on laugh takes over Hank then. With a light shake of his head, he tosses Connor an easy smile before finally exiting the car.

“You fuckin’ deviants and your weird ass ways of dealing with emotions...”

Connor returns the smile as well, though it’s shy and awkward in a way that’s just so  _ Connor  _ it makes Hank’s heart squirm at the sight. He peels his eyes away as he focuses more attention than necessary on shutting the car door.

Together, they amble towards the front door and enter the house. Sumo greets them per usual, and Hank catches sight of Connor petting him carefully before he stalks off towards the kitchen to hang up his coat and put away his keys.

He’s on his way to grab a soda from the fridge when his cellphone begins to ring in his pant’s pocket.

He pulls it out, and at the sight of the contact name in question, he quirks a brow. With confusion still evident on his expression, he answers the call.

“Jeffrey? Something wrong?”

_ “Hank, how’s your leg? It’s fine, right? Fine enough for work?” _

Hank rolls his eyes. Jeffrey has spoken once and Hank already  _ knows  _ where this conversation is going.

“I mean...yeah, but…” Hank’s words trail off with an exasperated sigh. “What, do you want me to come in or something?”

There’s a small pause on the other end before Jeffrey begins speaking again. 

_ “Yeah. Yeah, I really do. I know I said you’re on leave and all, and I know it’s been a short time since the accident. But...Well, the team really needs you. You and Connor.” _

Hank, who was pacing around the kitchen as he talked, stops mid stride.

_ “Hank?” _

Hank looks over to Connor - he’s on the floor, stroking Sumo’s fur and seeming content over there with the hint of a smile on his lips and an LED shining bright blue. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to Hank’s conversation, instead drowning in Sumo’s love and small barks off affection as he pets him.

“Connor…” Hank begins over the phone, his words low and hushed, “Connor can’t come into work.”

_ “Wait, why not?”  _ Jeffrey asks. His tone raises in concern.

“Did you not get his reports?”

There’s a pause, and then,  _ “No. I didn’t. I just...I just assumed he was repaired. What, am I wrong?” _

Hank shakes his head to himself, having forgotten that Jeffrey can’t see him on the other end of the phone. His next words are almost a whisper as he watches Connor carefully, making sure he’s still not paying attention to Hank and his phone conversation.

“He lost his fucking memory, Jeffrey.”

There’s a stunned silence at first. It draws on for a few moments, and Hank isn’t even sure if Jeffrey is going to respond at all when he finally pipes back up.

_ “Like, completely?” _

“Yeah, basically,” Hank says. “The perp we were dealing with wiped it all during the attack. He hardly remembers anything now. New Jericho, the android revolution, the attack, nothing like that. I doubt he can do police work, at least with how things are right now.”

Hank hears Jeffrey sigh on the other end, long and exasperated.

_ “Well...Ugh, for fuck’s sake. I mean, obviously I’ll put him on leave for now, but...Well…” _

Again, Hank already  _ knows  _ what’s coming.

“What, Jeffrey?”

_ “Can you come in? We really need you right now.” _

Hank looks over to Connor. He can’t leave the kid alone - not now. Not with the way things are. That’d be the  _ worst  _ choice, and Hank’s already made enough bad decisions for one day. He needs to be here for Connor. He can’t just leave him home  _ alone. _

“Jeffrey, I don’t…”

_ “Hank, seriously. This is a big case we’re dealing with, and if you’re okay to come in, we could really use you.” _

Hank sighs to himself. He bites his lips, his mind pounding as a war plays out between the two options. It bounces back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and he just  _ can’t  _ seem to figure out which to choose. He’s tired, so tired, and all he wished for was a calm evening with Connor.

_ Is that too much to ask? _

But in the end, with a light shake of his head, he finally answers.

“Okay, okay, fine. Whatever.”

And without waiting for Jeffrey’s response, he hangs up the call.

He walks over to Connor then, steps hesitant and careful. Connor looks up at the sound of footsteps as he finally stops petting Sumo, and he cocks his head to the side while he fully stands.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Hank nods. “Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. I just…”

Connor’s eyebrows narrow when Hank’s words trail off, and his LED starts to stutter. A ripple in the calm blue, a minute break of ease.

“Jeffrey wants me to come in. To work, I mean.”

Connor’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“Yeah,” Hank answers, rubbing his hand awkwardly across the nape of his neck. He shifts his weight side to side, saying, “I really don’t want to, but he...he said he really needs me.”

Connor gives a curt nod. “I understand.”

Leave it to Connor to be as easy going as possible even though Hank’s certain he  _ definitely  _ doesn’t want this.

“Are you sure?” Hank prods. “I don’t want to leave you home alone if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I’m certain,” Connor says.

His words don’t waver at all - they’re almost eerily machinelike, Hank notices - and he looks Hank right in the eye as he speaks. But still, Hank isn’t convinced - not in the slightest.

Not with everything that happened today.

“Connor, I can argue and say I don’t have to go in-“

“It’s okay, Lieutenant,” Connor insists. “I’m perfectly content being home alone. Don’t worry.”

Hank sighs in defeat. He looks to the floor, for the longer he stares in Connor’s deep brown eyes, the more guilt that crawls up in his gut because of  _ course  _ he’s going to fucking worry. Of  _ course _ he’s going to regret leaving. Of  _ course  _ this is a bad idea and yet here Hank is, going through with the second one of the day.

In the end, Hank simply puts his phone on the coffee table to grab for later and meets Connor’s gaze one last time before turning around towards his room.

“Alright. I’ll go get ready, then.”

**_~~~_ **

This really wasn’t the best idea, Hank knows.

He wants to be home. More than  _ anything,  _ he wants to be home. Home with Connor, home with Sumo, home where they can just chill and do whatever and maybe pretend that everything is just like it was before the accident.

He shouldn’t have left Connor there.

He knows Connor will be able to handle himself at home, of course. He’s an adult, for fuck’s sake, and he’s not stupid. But then again, things have been tough lately. Things have changed. He’s confused as hell, lost, probably scared, and in his eyes, he’s alone in some random guy's home whom he doesn’t remember.

He keeps trying to justify to himself that Connor at least  _ seemed _ okay as Hank left.

But still, Hank knows him better than anyone else. He could see the stutter in his LED, the hesitation in his words, the slight fear hidden deep in his eyes. The way his words were stitled and awfully machinelike - something that Hank’s learned to only occur when he’s stressed and doesn’t know how else to cope with the emotions. After all, it’s better to shut off the feelings than deal with them - at least in Connor’s mind, it is.

Hank shakes his head to himself as he enters the precinct. He can’t think about this stuff. Not right now. Not when he’s needed at work for whatever Jeffrey wanted him so badly for.

It doesn’t take him too long to find out, though, for he’s not even halfway on his way to his desk when Jeffrey is standing outside his office door and calling Hank’s name for him to come in.

Hank does so without any hesitant, trudging up the glass steps and shutting the door behind him. Jeffrey falls into his office chair and Hank stands in front of the desk, waiting expectantly in silence.

“I’m sorry for calling you in,” is all Jeffrey starts with. There’s some kind of remorse hidden deep within his eyes, one that almost feels genuine and kind. Hank can’t help but soften under the sight of it, regardless of his bitterness at having to drive all the way here and leave Connor at home.

Hank shrugs. “It’s whatever.”

Jeffrey shakes his head, saying, “I know things must be hard for you right now, Hank. I mean, hell, Connor losing his memory?”

Hank doesn't know what to say to that. He simply looks at the ground, staring at his old shoes as if there’s something particularly interesting there. There isn’t.

“Just, what I’m trying to say,” Jeffrey continues to fill the growing silence, “is thank you. For coming in, I mean.”

Hank nods, finally pulling his gaze back up to meet the captain’s eyes.

“Yeah, no problem,” is all he says. His words are awfully gruff, somewhat unfitting considering the kindness in Jeffrey’s words, though he knows the captain will understand. They’ve been close friends since they were in their twenties - and while in the recent years, Hank has certainly been...distant, they’re understanding for each other has never left them.

“Anyway,” Jeffrey pipes back up, “I called you in because today, we’re interrogating the guy who assaulted you and Connor. The guy who killed all those other androids, like the PL600 you two checked out at the warehouse.”

“And?” Hank asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I was hoping you could lead it,” Jeffrey finishes.

A sudden pit overwhelms Hank in his stomach. He pulls a face, body stiffening and nerves tensing. He looks at Jeffrey with eyes that widen a bit in fear, and his eyebrows furrow together as he starts to bite his lip.

Because facing the bastard who did that shit to Connor is the  _ last  _ thing Hank wants to do today.

“I...I don’t know,” Hank finally says. “Can’t someone else do it? I can observe, fine, since I know this is  _ my  _ case, after all. But leading it? Jeffrey, I-“

“I think you’d be the perfect person to this,” Jeffrey cuts him off, his tone soft. “Now, I completely understand. I really do. But…”

His sentence trails off with that, flooding the room with silence and unease that has Hank shifting side to side, his fingers beginning to fumble with his jacket’s hem absentmindedly. Jeffrey continues to stare at Hank with waiting eyes like laser rays, jabbing deep into Hank and making him squirm. He doesn't pull his gaze away - not once - and all Hank can do is helplessly stare back into those eyes.

In the end, Hank hangs his head and sighs with defeat.

“Fine, fine. Okay.”

Jeffrey nods, and an apologetic smile brings up the edges of his lips.

“Thank you, Hank,” he says. His tone is still so sincere in a way Hank hasn’t heard in years, and Hank finds the bitterness leaving his body bit by bit.

“Yeah, yeah,” is all Hank says, waving him off. “Whatever.”

Jeffrey nods towards the bullpen and says, “Chen and Reed will be observing you, okay? So if anything goes wrong, they’ll be there.”

“Got it,” Hank says.

At that, he walks out of the office and shuts the door behind him.

As he walks down the steps from the office, he tries to imagine that Connor will also be there. Watching in the observation room, ready to back Hank up at any moment. To encourage him, to support him.

Just like how things were before.

The thought is nice enough, and Hank holds onto it even as it slips through his fingers like slippery sand.

**_~~~_ **

Connor opens his eyes to a sudden warmth crawling onto his legs.

He looks down at the sight of Sumo, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and movements sluggish as he practically collapses on top of Connor laying on the couch. He hardly flinches, the extra weight of the large St. Bernard not affecting him in the way it would affect a human.

He isn’t bothered by Sumo’s sudden presence, either - far from it, in fact. Connor couldn’t sleep anyway; he was trying to, but his mind kept spinning, his stress levels continued to waver at uncomfortable percentages, and the ability to relax and shut off his rambling mind refused to come upon him. 

He wishes the Lieutenant was home - maybe he would be able to go into standby then with the knowledge that he was here in the house.

To be honest, he isn’t sure why he acted so confident in being fine home alone. He knew he wasn’t - and he isn’t, currently. The house is lonely, the walls so familiar yet  _ unfamiliar  _ in a way Connor can’t explain, and all he really longs for is the Lieutenant’s presence to come back. He still doesn’t know why - he simply feels better when he’s around. More at ease. More safe. 

And as he dwells on this, the words he had said earlier come back to him.

_ “But I don’t want to leave you. Because the only thing I know is that when I look at you...My systems tell me I’m home.” _

Why had Connor said that?

_ “...My systems tell me I’m home.” _

It’s true. So terribly true, and yet Connor doesn't know why. He felt terrible at that place the Lieutenant took him to earlier - everything felt so wrong, he felt so out of place, and all he could do was try to remain calm sitting beside the Lieutenant on that bench. He’s almost certain flashes occurred there - so certain he can almost taste them. A flash of city lights, a flash of beer bottles and benches, a flash of laughing and easy conversation. Flashes that he can’t fully grasp, can’t fully comprehend anymore as he now lays on the couch.

And flashes that did  _ nothing  _ to restore his memory.

That was one of their last chances, right? Isn’t that what Markus had said? How time was running out? Only, the flashes did nothing. All it caused was Connor to feel so lost, and for the Lieutenant who once felt so hopeful before have that meager hope ripped free from him right at that moment, the color practically draining from his light blue eyes.

All hope seemed lost; but through it all, through the tears…

_ “...My systems tell me I’m home.” _

It’s the only way Connor could explain how he feels. The familiarity of the Lieutenant is so painful it’s  _ tearing  _ Connor up inside, and the fact that he can’t make that final leap to  _ whatever  _ he’s missing is burdening.

And even now, even now as he lays on the couch with an armful of the St. Bernard, he misses him more than he can understand.

The dog tucks his head into the small space between Connor’s shoulder and his neck, dragging him out of his thoughts. Sumo’s snout is moist and cold as it pries its way into the little dip of Connor’s chest, but the rest of his head is warm and soft, and Connor leans into the touch. It’s comforting and a vague familiarity is there; Connor finds his arms reaching up to wrap themselves around Sumo in a hug before he really comprehends what he’s doing.

Connor closes his eyes again. The dog’s presence lowered his stress levels, and the added warm pressure certainly is comforting. Maybe he can finally go into standby and pass the time before Lieutenant Anderson comes back to the hou-

A buzzing sound fills the air.

It takes Connor a few seconds to recognize the buzzing as one of a cellphone’s. His eyes snap open again, and his line of stare darts towards the coffee table by the couch where the noise is coming from. The phone in question has its lock screen bright and turned on with the alert of an incoming call, one that can’t be satiated because whoever’s phone it is clearly is not home.

And that’s when it clicks.

It’s the Lieutenant’s phone - he must’ve left it here in his hurry to get out the door.

Connor gently nudges Sumo off of him and sits up so he can inch forward and grab the phone. However, the moment he gets ahold of it, the alert of the incoming call ends, and the usual lock screen screensaver is all that can be seen.

Connor’s eyes widen.

It’s...him.

It’s him,  _ Connor _ , as the Lieutenant’s screensaver. Except…

He looks  _ happy. _

His smile is easy and relaxed, and his light brown eyes are caramel in the sun’s rays. He’s sitting on lush green grass next to Sumo, his hands tightly bound around the dog in a bear hug. His back is mostly facing away from the camera’s point of view, but it looks as if he was caught off guard when the photo was taken - nothing like a framed or staged photo - for his eyes show hints of surprise as he looks back at the camera. Connor can’t tell if the slight shock on his face is from the camera, the dog’s large tongue mid-lick across his face, or a mixture of both.

Connor can feel his thirium pump as it stutters in his chest.

That’s him. 

That  _ was  _ him, anyway.

That was the person with all the stolen memories that are locked away from Connor now, unable to be reached no matter how hard he tries or how much he wills for them to return.

Connor doesn’t want to look at the screensaver anymore.

Yet, despite how much he doesn’t want to look at himself any longer, a different deep urge within him wants to look m _ ore.  _ Wants to look deeper, wants to see what other pictures he can find despite the pain that creeps in his figurative gut and causes his thirium pump to squeeze in a way that shouldn’t be possible for androids.

That second part of him wins out, and before he can stop himself, he’s interfacing with the cellphone to unlock it without need for the password.

He was right about there being other pictures. While the home screen that displays the apps is a generic stock photo of various abstract shapes and colors, his photo album app shows many more pictures akin to the lockscreen. Of course, in the album, there’s many work related photos and pictures of Sumo; but, commonly interspersed between these are photos involving Connor.

A selfie of Connor and the Lieutenant in what seems to be an aquarium.

Connor holding up a detective’s badge issued from the D.P.D. with hints of smug pride ridden on his face.

Connor caught playing with Sumo outside in the evening light, laughter clearly seeming to be on his lips if the amused expression is anything to go by.

Connor also caught sleeping on the couch with Sumo held tight in his arms in a way that’s awfully similar to how he was holding him earlier.

A selfie of Connor, the Lieutenant, and Sumo on what appears to be a beach, the golden sun setting behind them and casting a yellow hue over the lapping waves.

A more humorous photo of Connor drenched in rain and mud with messy - almost curly - hair, a yellow LED, and an unamused bitter expression to match.

There’s so many pictures, so many good memories stored in the Lieutenant’s phone. Connor scrolls through them for a few moments until he reaches the top of the photo all in where they stop. The date of the last one is December 2038 - it’s a selfie of Connor and the Lieutenant at the place that he had taken him earlier. Detroit’s city lights are clear in the background, along with the large bridge arching over the calm water.

And yet…

They can never make any more of these memories.

Not anymore. Not with whatever happened to take away his past memory. With a sick feeling gnawing on Connor’s insides, he realizes that he’ll never be that way again - never the content person he seemed to be, all genuine smiles and brightened eyes and laughing lips. Never the…

Never the friend to the Lieutenant.

However, he knows he’s missing something. Because from what Connor can gather from these pictures…’friend’ seems to be putting it lightly. ‘Friend’ seems like a faraway term at that point for them, a term that came and went  _ ages  _ ago.

_ What were we really? _

_...Family? _

A sudden pit makes home in Connor’s stomach at the thought. No, not the thought of them being a family - that doesn’t scare him at all.

The thought that Connor will never deliver that.

Not anymore.

Maybe before, but now…

Connor looks around at the foreign walls of the Lieutenant’s house, his eyes wide and LED begin to flicker. Begin to grow unsteady, beginning to doubt.

_ I don’t belong here. _

_ I’ll never be a family to him - not anymore. _

_ Not with… _

_ Not with whatever happened. _

Connor turns the phone off, his fingers shaking in a way he never knew they could. It’s irrational, and he doesn't know  _ why  _ his body was ever programmed to give his muscles tremors. But yet, here they are, shaking with anxious nerves that Connor was never designed to posses.

_ I don’t belong here. _

Connor looks at the door. He could leave. He could let the Lieutenant live his life as he should - not with Connor. Not with him as a burden.

Not with someone who doesn’t remember him any longer.

Connor swallows - an idle gesture he didn’t need to do yet felt compelled to do regardless. He looks back at the walls one last time, and with an unsteady breath, he heads towards the door, leaving Sumo abandoned on the couch.

Yet, all of a sudden, he freezes in front of it. He simply stares, his eyebrows narrowing as he studies the wood, the curves, the familiarity of it all. And yet-

_ “Are you sure?” _

_ Connor spoke as he looked back at his friend walking through the door, his grey hair ridden with the snowflakes falling outside and arms wrapped around his body for some extra warmth that his coat failed to give him. He used his foot to kick the door shut behind him and then looked towards Connor. _

_ “Sure of what?” he asked. _

_ Connor shrugged. He looked to the ground, his LED cycling yellow, yellow, yellow - a constant spin of confusion and uncertainty. Everything about this felt so wrong, some kind of guilt curling in his figurative stomach that weighed him down. _

_ He was an android.  _

_ He didn’t deserve a home. _

_ After a few moments, he sucked in a breath he didn’t need and then finally spoke. Though, he kept his eyes trained on his shoes and dared not to meet his friend’s eyes. _

_ “That I can stay here.” _

_ He looked up to find his partner staring at him with wide eyes. They softened the moment they made eye contact, those icy blue eyes melting into something so gentle that Connor’s insides squirmed with something he couldn’t understand. _

_ Gratitude, maybe. Or perhaps fondness. Connor wasn’t certain. _

_ “Connor, of course I’m sure,” his partner said, his voice incredulous as if that was the dumbest thing Connor could have ever asked. “Things are a fuckin’ mess right now with the revolution, and I’m perfectly fine with you here. The home’s empty enough as it is. And what, you think I’m just gonna leave you out in the cold like some asshole?” _

_ A hint of a smile found its way on Connor’s lips as he teased, “But I can’t get cold. My biocomponents can sense the temperature outside and while I definitely prefer the feeling of warmth over coldness, it doesn't affect me as the same way it affects-“ _

_ “Alright, alright,” his partner said, waving Connor off as he trudged towards the kitchen. “Maybe I will kick you out if you don’t shut the fuck up.” _

_ Connor’s smile brightened, knowing that he’s simply only teasing as well. _

_ “My apologies.” _

The flash falls away just like that, leaving Connor staring at the door in front of him with furrowed eyebrows and a red LED that takes a few cycles to flicker back to yellow. He shakes his head, wondering just why he had paused, and goes to open the door with his hand lingering on the doorknob.

As he turns the knob, he realizes he doesn't know where to go - not one clue. Back at New Jericho, the Lieutenant had offered to take him in, and Connor was more than grateful at the time. It  _ felt  _ right, too - like it was where he was meant to be, where he was meant to go.

He looks back one last time at the house.

Sumo is now curling up on Connor’s abandoned spot on the couch. He cocks his head to side as he stares at Connor with confusion evident in those dark brown eyes, and he whines softly. The rest of the house is barren and empty. Though...

...It’s familiar. Familiar in a way that has Connor staring, staring, staring at the house and its walls and its furniture within. Familiar in a way that halts his systems, forcing him to stop and look and  _ study  _ all that fills this house.

Connor’s grip on the handle tightens.

He doesn't want to leave.

It’s...It’s his home.

This place  _ and _ the Lieutenant - they’re his home. They’re his home for reasons he will never remember, will never understand, but forever know deep down are true.

But yet, the pictures Connor found on Lieutenant Anderson’s phone rush back all of a sudden to the front of his mind. The joy they had, the happiness on their faces, the comfort they shared, the  _ family _ they built together all written in those images.

So...

Connor tears his eyes away and opens the door.

So as much as he doesn't know where he’s going or what he’s going to do, he  _ does  _ know he shouldn’t be in a house that he’ll never be able to make a home.

At least not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as connor trusts hank, looks like guilt is starting to creep up on him with the whole situation :/
> 
> (come say hi on tumblr! i’m beckkkii there)


	7. second time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, sorry again for the later update! the next one might be later as well - i have a really busy week up ahead. but, we’ll see! it’ll be out as soon as i can :)
> 
> this chapter was pretty fun to write, considering the action is starting to pick up now hehe

Connor doesn’t know where to go.

This was a stupid idea, he knows. He should’ve just stayed at the house. He should’ve just laid on that couch with Sumo by his side. He should’ve just waited for the Lieutenant like he said he would.

He shouldn’t have left.

He shouldn’t have.

This was a stupid idea.

But yet, despite the guilt that swims in his gut, despite the fears that plague his mind and will him to turn around, to head back, to return to the house, the memory of those pictures in the Lieutenant’s phone always comes back at full force to the front of his mind, shoving away any doubts as quickly as they arrive.

Smiles. Trust. Comfort.

_ Family. _

Connor’s LED flickers yellow at the word. A word he’ll never fully understand, a word he feels is locked behind closed doors that he’ll never be able to reach past.

He’ll never be family to the Lieutenant.

How could he?

The Lieutenant is better off alone.

Better off without Connor.

The dark realization is what propels him forward on his blind trek. He hasn’t gone very far, though the house is way out of sight now. Instead, all that surrounds him are streets with the occasional passing car, parks full of lively children, racing dogs, and tired adults, and stores that are closed due to current construction being done. The sidewalk he’s currently walking on is right beside one particularly large park, and he watches the people inside through the black gating that separates the park from the sidewalks and streets outside.

A rumble sounds overhead, pulling Connor’s gaze upwards to glance at the sky. He finds it darkening with angry clouds that loom overhead, swollen with rainwater and threatening to downpour. A quick online search informs him that a thunderstorm is expected at 4 p.m., and his internal clock tells him it’s 3:49 in the afternoon.

And before he even gets the chance to try to find somewhere he can go before it starts to rain, the first few droplets splatter on his face. They start slowly, and Connor watches as the sidewalk he stands on slowly gets dotted with rain. But before long, with another rumble booming through the air like a final warning, the rain begins to fully pour.

“Shit,” Connor curses under his breath, his eyes squinted to try and see through the heavy rain.

His body is soaked within seconds. His borrowed sweatshirt, his jeans, his hair, his face, his synthetic skin - everything becomes drenched in cold, unwelcome rain. Connor glances around wildly in search for a dry place to hide out at; but, to no avail. All the people in the park are pulling out umbrellas now, and some are racing towards their cars in a desperate escape to hurry home. 

And all Connor can do is stare and watch with no umbrellas, no cars, and no home to return to as the rain continues to fall and lightning starts to crackle through the dark sky.

In the nearby distance, Connor spots a port-a-potty. Maybe he can hide out there, as small and cramped as it is, and-

“Connor? Is that you?”

Connor startles at the sound of his name. He whips around to the adjacent street beside him to find a car stopped right beside where Connor stands on the sidewalk. He narrows his eyes to see through the downpour at who the driver is - a simple scan tells him it’s a PL600 android with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin. He’s dressed in a maroon sweater, and he leans out the window and stares curiously at Connor.

He almost...He almost looks like-

_ “Connor? Are you okay?” _

_ Connor peeled his eyes away at the faraway sound of someone calling his name. He glanced up to find his partner there, his gaze soft and full of concern as he neared Connor. He put a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder - it sent a pleasant wave of warmth throughout him, and he could almost feel his LED as it cycled from bright red back to yellow. _

_ Connor glanced back at the PL600 corpse below him. His lifeless body rested against one of the warehouse’s beams with his own pool of blood encasing him. His blue eyes were completely glazed over as they stared up at the two partners, and Connor tried his best to avoid them. He couldn’t. _

_ “Yes, I’m...I’m okay,” Connor said, though his tone spoke otherwise. It shook terribly despite how much he tried to steady it, and there was a sense of hopelessness there that Connor wished he could will away. “I just…” _

_ “Yeah?” his partner prodded, standing even closer now. Their arms touched, and Connor leaned into the warmth of his friend. It felt nice. Secure. _

_ “He reminds me of Simon,” Connor finally blurted out. He stared at his shoes then, trying to avoid his partner’s gaze. Though, at the same time, staring down wasn’t helping either - his feet stood right at the edge of the pool of blood, and the sight of so much thirium made Connor’s figurative stomach churn in ways that shouldn’t be possible for an android. _

_ “Simon?” his partner questioned. “Who’s that? His name sounds kinda familiar.” _

_ “One of the androids I’m friends with at New Jericho,” Connor said, finally drawing his eyes up to lock with his friend’s. “He helped the revolution. And he’s a PL600 android, too. It’s just...I...I don’t know…” _

_ His words trailed off then, leaving them in a heavy silence. _

_ “Connor, I understand,” his partner finally said. He patted Connor’s shoulder a few more times before letting his hand drop, and he took a step back. His eyes, however, never left Connor’s. Connor kept himself focused on them, grounded himself on them. _

_ “You do?” Connor asked. _

_ “‘Course,” he answered. “I’d be uneasy as hell if I had to deal with a case who reminded me of a friend. There’s nothing wrong with being affected by that - that’s normal. That’s...Well, it’s human. _

_ Connor nodded, his LED cycling to a calm blue once again. _

_ “Thanks, Hank.” _

“Connor?”

Connor blinks, thrown back to a sudden reality. His brow furrows as he stares back at the android in the car beside him, and it takes him a few seconds to realize it was said android who just called his name. 

“Are you alright? You look...confused,” the android continues, worry drawing his eyebrows together and pulling down the corners of his lips.

“I’m…” Connor mumbles. His voice is too soft to be heard in the downpour, and he repeats louder, “I’m okay, thank you.”

He pauses for a moment, LED flashing yellow, yellow, yellow - a constant cycle of confusion. The edge of whatever flashed before his eyes is fading away - the sickly blood, the dead blue eyes, the matted blond hair, a certain name he referrenced. A knot forms between his brows as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

Something about this android in the car beside him feels...familiar.

“Do I know you?” Connor calls out.

The android looks stunned for a second. Yet, recollection soon crosses over his features. He mutters to himself, barely audible over the rain, “Oh, right. I forgot.”

He then swallows and says louder out the car window, “I’m Simon. I believe Markus told you about me, but we just haven’t had a chance to meet again yet.”

Connor nods.  _ Simon. _ The word is familiar enough as it is, and he  _ does  _ recall Markus telling him about Simon back at the hospital wing in New Jericho.

“Oh, well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Connor says. He then glances around at the downpour, and another rumble of thunder booms throughout the area. Connor smirks a little, and in an attempt at a joke, he says, “I wish we could’ve met under nicer circumstances.”

Simon laughs lightly, but then his features soften into something more full of worry than of amusement as he stares at Connor. His gaze sweeps over him and his drenched appearance, and then he pulls his eyes away to study the area around them that’s equally as drenched.

“Why are you out here?” he finally asks. “Markus told me you were staying with the Lieutenant.”

Connor’s stimulated breathing hitches. He bites his lip and glances away for a split second.

_ I was,  _ Connor thinks. 

_ But I shouldn’t be. _

“I…” Connor begins as he brings his eyes back. His words fade away with the roaring wind, and he can’t find the will to continue. He simply stares back at Simon in the car as he purses his lips tightly together and ends the sentence there.

“Here, you can hop in,” Simon says, gesturing with his head towards the passenger’s seat. “Keep you out of the rain and all.”

Connor nods eagerly and then rounds over to the other side of the car. It’s, oddly enough, not the automated kind; instead, it’s a regular car, similar to the Lieutenant’s.

The simple remembrance of the Lieutenant and his car - the one he drove Connor to the house in - sends a pang of guilt throughout Connor’s systems. He brushes the thought away with a little shake of his head, pouring all of his mental energy instead on opening the passenger’s side car door and stepping in before shutting the door behind him.

He feels a bit badly as his sopping clothes and body practically drench the seat in rainwater as he sits on it, but Simon doesn’t seem to mind as he puts his foot on the peddle and begins driving. The windshield wipers move side to side in rapid fashion as they drive through the streets, and strange enough as it is, Connor doesn't mind that he doesn't know where he’s heading.

It’s not like he knew where he was going before, anyway. He’s just glad to be warm and out of the rain now. And besides - he trusts Simon. Markus knows him, and Connor trusts Markus, so that’s good enough for him.

He also seems familiar in a way that Connor simply can’t place.

“So where were you headed?” Simon begins, his eyes never wavering off the road. “The store? The park? You looked...Well, you looked kind of lost.”

Connor shrugs. “Honestly, I didn’t know. I  _ still  _ don’t. I just…”

Simon spares him a curious glance. His tone is soft as he asks, “You just what?”

“I just left the Lieutenant’s house. For good, I think.”

Simon quirks a brow before placing his attention back on the road. They make a left turn onto a busy street, and Connor can faintly hear the sounds of horns and screeches of tires through the white noise of heavy rainfall and thunder.

“Is there...Is there any reason why?” Simon asks. His words are awfully cautious, as if doubting whether or not he should be asking these questions at all. He then quickly spits out, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me  _ why _ if you don’t want to, of course.”

“No, it’s okay,” Connor says. He draws in a deep breath then - one that he doesn’t require but finds that he feels better after doing so, almost lighter in a way. He feels the tension leave his synthetic muscles as he slowly lets the breath out before finally speaking up again.

“I just...It felt…” Connor says, struggling to find the right words. They’re on the tip of his tongue, but yet he can’t manage to spit them out.

“It felt  _ wrong, _ ” he manages to say. He then glances out the side window, not wanting to make eye contact. Instead, he focuses his attention on watching the raindrops trail down the glass pane as if racing against each other.

“Wrong?” Simon prods. ”What do you mean?”

Connor shakes his head. “I don’t know, to be honest. It felt right when I was there, and...I mean, it still does. But then it also feels  _ wrong,  _ like I’m intruding, or like I’m a stranger. And maybe I need to leave him and find my own life, or maybe I don’t and I’m just worrying too much and I’m hurting everything by leaving, or-“

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Simon says, cutting him off with his gentle words. Connor hadn’t even noticed his tone had risen, but the moment he gets interrupted, he realizes how loud and frantic his words had gotten. Simon continues, “I understand.”

Connor nods, now noticing his LED in the reflection as it flashes a fierce scarlett for a few cycles before pulsing back to yellow. The colorful circle is half hidden by his hair, which is now a mess from the rain and wind - it’s almost completely curly now, and droplets of rain slowly drip off the curly locks before rolling down his forehead and face. His hair has gone dark as well from the water, losing its light mocha hue and instead becoming dark, almost black.

“Do you want me to take you back?” Simon asks in a soft voice. “Or no? I understand if you don’t want me to.”

Connor thinks for a moment. He thinks of the warmth of the home, the feeling of serenity as he went into standby in the Lieutenant’s bed last night, the way the Lieutenant had covered him in a blanket before he awoke just out of concern for his own comfort, the strange fondness that flooded Connor’s systems whenever he pet the dog, the comfort of the cushions on the couch he sat upon.

But then he thinks of the photos and the people within them.

Their smiles. Their trust. Their comfort.

Their family.

Connor shakes his head.

“No. I don’t want to go back,” he finally says. He looks down at his lap and his hands folded together there. He itches for something to do, for something to fiddle with. He doesn’t know what it  _ is  _ that he wants to fiddle with, but the desire to do so is certainly there.

“Okay,” Simon says. “I can take you to New Jericho if you’d like. You can stay at one of the apartments there. My apartment is quite small, but I know Markus’ and North’s are bigger because they share one together. They let androids who visit New Jericho stay there all the time. Maybe you can, too, until you find your own apartment there or another place to stay.”

Connor nods, and he offers a kind smile. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon looks over, and a small smile of his own creeps up on his face.

“Of course.”

The car goes silent for a few moments. Connor listens to the rain and thunder as it drones on outside the car, and he watches as the blackened sky overhead flashes with the occasional crack of lightning. However, try as he might to let his mind wander while he watches the world pass by through the foggy car window, a strange feeling continues to squirm in his figurative stomach.

Nervousness? A feeling of loss?

Or perhaps it’s guilt.

Connor thinks of the Lieutenant again, and sadness pours through his systems at the simple thought. The thought of his easy smile, the feeling of warmth and their closeness that Connor can’t understand yet craves all the same.

Connor shakes his head, trying to rid the thought of him. 

He  _ really  _ needs something to fidget with. He doesn’t know what, exactly, he wants to fight with; but still, the urge continues to be there, as strong as ever. 

An idea crosses his mind. He doesn't know why, doesn’t know where it came from, but it seems right - almost familiar in a way.

“Excuse me, Simon?”

Simon pulls his eyes off the road and looks over. “Yes?”

“Do you have a coin I can borrow?”

**_~~~_ **

The apartment complex inside New Jericho is homey in a way Connor didn’t expec. He expected bland walls, simple decorations outside the door, peace and quiet throughout the hallways. They’re androids, after all - they were never taught decoration. Never taught freedom of expression.

But, much to his surprise, he finds the complex’s atmosphere to be the complete opposite. The walls are covered in magnificent art of all sorts of things, from abstract art to realism. The commun hue is dark blue and red amongst the paintings, and Connor also notes the repetitive symbol of “ra9” for reasons he doesn't understand. Even more, lots of chatter and conversation flows throughout the hallways, and Simon and Connor have to maneuver past multiple gatherings of androids. They’re all easy smiles and light laughs, filling the area with a sense of contentment and happiness.

Before long, Simon gestures to a door on his left. 

“That’s my room,” Simon says. He then gestures to a door a few ones down and adds, “And that one right down there is Markus’ and North’s. Josh’s is the one in between ours.”

Connor nods. “You all seem to have stuck close together after the revolution - am I correct?”

“Of course,” Simon says. “We’ve been through a lot together. They’re my family, in a way.”

_ Family. _

There’s that word again. Soft as it’s spoken past Simon’s tongue, yet hard as it pierces through Connor. He shakes his head, shoving the thought away before it can seep into him any longer.

After just a few more steps, they reach what Simon earlier informed was Markus’ and North’s room. Simon doesn’t even knock as he wraps his hand around the doorknob and enters.

“North? Markus?” he calls out, cautiously stepping in.

Connor follows suit and enters the room with Simon as he shuts the door behind the two of them. Connor glances around the room; from what he can observe, there seems to be three main sections. The one he stepped into seems to be the main living area stocked with both a lumpy couch and a television set, the one to his right is a fully equipped kitchen area that’s barren of any mess, and the one to his left is a hallway that he assumes leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

Before Connor can examine the room further, Markus appears from the hallway. He appears unaffected by the sight of Simon in his apartment, but the moment his eyes land on Connor who’s still drenched and dripping water from his clothes, they widen in surprise.

“Connor? Is everything alright?” he asks, his tone already packed with worry.

Connor doesn't even get a chance to reply as he hears footsteps come from the hallway along with a familiar female voice - North’s voice, Connor realizes.

“Markus, what’s going on out-“

She stops mid-sentence the very second she sees Connor.

“Oh,” she says, her auburn eyes widening in a similar fashion to Markus’. “Uh, hi, Connor. It’s good to see you again.”

Connor nods. “It’s good to see you, as well.”

“I thought you were supposed to be with the Lieutenant,” she comments, stepping closer. Her eyebrows furrow in question as she adds, “Right?”

“I…” Connor begins. His mouth remains gaping open, however, when he can’t figure out how exactly to finish. He tries again, “Well, I...I don’t know. I just...I…I didn’t know what to do, so I left, and then it was raining outside, and Simon appeared, so I-“

“Hey, it’s okay,” Markus cuts in, stepping closer as well. He puts a gentle hand on Connor’s shoulder and continues, “You don’t have to explain anything. It’s alright.”

Connor snaps his mouth shut then, grateful for the interception, and nods. 

“He was caught in the storm outside,” Simon pipes up. “So I brought him here. I hope that’s okay, Markus.”

Markus’ hand slides off Connor’s shoulder as he offers him a soft smile, saying, “Of course. How about we get you some dry clothes, alright?”

Connor looks down at his attire - the Lieutenant’s hoodie is now a dark grey from the rain that drenched the material, and it weighs heavily against Connor’s body. His jeans are heavy, as well, and they’ve taken on a darker navy blue color due to the wetness. The material sticks to his synthetic skin in a way that’s almost uncomfortable - even for an android - and Connor looks back up at Markus and nods.

“Thank you,” he says. 

Markus’ smile widens even more, his mismatched eyes crinkling ever so slightly. 

“Anytime,” he says as he turns around and heads towards the hallway. “Follow me - I have some extra clothes in the bedroom.”

Connor follows suit, leaving North and Simon alone in the living area. And as he walks into the hallway, he finds it to be just like he originally predicted - bedroom to the right, bathroom to the left. The walls are painted a simple light brown color, though a few framed paintings - paintings that Connor scans, finding them to be made by a famous artist named Carl Manfred - litter the walls.

They enter the bedroom, and it’s larger than Connor predicted. There’s a queen size bed pushed up against the center of one sidewall, and a wide closet is on the opposite wall. A bedside table next to the bed holds a lamp and a leftover package of thirium. Right beside the large window on the wall opposite the bedroom’s doorway is a bookcase full of all sorts of books, ranging from fantasy to informative. The room is completely clean besides the bed which isn’t made - instead, the covers are drawn back, and one of the books from the bookcase sits flat down in the middle. Was someone just reading here?

Connor watches as Markus heads towards the closet. Her rummages around before finding what he seems to be suitable - an olive green tee and black jogger sweatpants. He also digs in another drawer within the closet and pulls out white cotton socks.

He hands the bunch of clothes over to Connor and says, “Okay, I’ll leave you to change. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

Connor nods. “Got it.”

At that, Markus starts to walk away; however, he hesitates before making it even a foot away from Connor. He looks back at him, then back at the door, then back at him before finally turning around to fully face Connor and look him straight in the eye. He opens his mouth as if beginning to say something, though no words come out.

After sighing with a breath he doesn’t need, Markus speaks.

“Listen,” he says, words gentle, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, of course. But...Well...Why did you leave the Lieutenant’s? Did something happen?”

Connor doesn’t answer at first. He stares back, LED cycling yellow upon yellow upon yellow as his mind whirs on what to say, how to say it, how to  _ explain. _

Because the truth is, he doesn’t know how to _. _

“I…” Connor starts. His words are soft, almost a whisper, and he swallows before continuing with a louder tone. A more confident tone. “I felt out of place, I think.”

Markus quirks a brow. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. His words tumble out in a rush as he looks to the floor, staring pointlessly at his shoes that shine with rainwater. “I worry that I’ll just make things worse for the Lieutenant. From what I’ve gathered, we seemed to be very close before. And I’m...I…”

“You’re scared that you’ll never be able to fulfill that anymore,” Markus fills in.

Connor looks up then, surprise clear on his face at Markus’ words. Because he’s  _ right  _ \- that’s  _ exactly  _ how Connor feels, and to hear someone else say it aloud feels almost confirming in a way. Validating.

Connor nods. “Yes, exactly.”

Markus looks at Connor for a long moment then. He doesn’t say anything, just simply stares with soft eyes and pursed lips with a focused expression that shows that he’s deep in thought. In the end, he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, just as he had done before.

“Connor, I’m not in your shoes, so I don’t know exactly how you feel,” he begins. “I know everything must be a lot for you right now - and I completely understand that. But…”

His words trail off then as his gaze falls away for a split second before he pulls it back.

“I know that worrying about not being enough for the Lieutenant is the  _ last  _ thing you should worry about.”

Connor doesn’t know what to say. He bites his lip, his LED pounding and pounding and pounding an insistent yellow on his temple.

“He doesn't really care whether you remember him or not, Connor,” Markus continues. “All he’s been worrying about lately is how  _ you  _ feel. If you feel safe, if you feel  _ cared  _ for and not alone in all this. Sure, he’d love for you remember him - that’s obvious. But that’s not his main concern right now. It’s  _ you. _ ”

Connor pulls his eyes away. Guilt rushes through his body - a storm of remorse as powerful as the one raging on outside. He looks to the floor and studies his shoes once again, trying to push his feelings of guilt away yet failing badly in doing so.

“So I wouldn’t worry about that,” Markus says with a final pat of Connor’s shoulder. 

Connor brings his eyes up - eyes that are wide and swollen with sadness, eyes that are confused and lost. In the end, he simply gives a curt nod.

“Thank you,” he says, his words hardly above a whisper.

Markus offers him a sad smile. “Of course.”

He turns around completely then and heads towards the door. Connor silently watches him, not moving a muscle besides his fingers - they move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across the clothes’ fabric Markus offered him. With a pang of sadness, Connor realizes it reminds him of when the Lieutenant brought him the sweatshirt in the bathroom, and how soft it felt as he put it on, how warm it felt as it weighed against his synethic skin. He felt warm that entire night, as a matter of fact, and even warmer - no, not just warm, but also  _ safe  _ \- as he crawled into the Lieutenant’s bed. He felt feelings that made him almost want to smile, feelings of trust, feelings of comfort.

Feelings of  _ family _ .

The kind that only the Lieutenant’s house could bring.

That  _ home  _ could bring.

And with sudden, hot tears welling in Connor’s eyes, he realizes that all he wants to do is go home.

“Wait!”

Markus, who was midway shutting the door behind him, stops in his tracks. He whips around and looks at Connor cautiously.

“Can you…” Connor begins, his words wavering. “Can you call Lieutenant Anderson to pick me up?”

Markus’ features soften. His eyes wander over Connor as they study him - study way his lips tremble, the way his chocolate eyes swim with a sheen of tears, the way his fingers tightly hold onto the bundle of borrowed clothes in his hands as if his life depends on it. 

With a gentle smile of understanding, Markus nods.

“Sure, Connor. I’ll call him.”

**_~~~_ **

The urge to punch the bastard sitting before Hank is strong, that’s for certain.

Instead, Hank simply stares at the perp in cold silence. His face is turned down ever-so-slightly, pointing his gaze at his cuffed hands that rest in tight fists on the table. Despite his downturned face, Hank can still see those freckles that dot his face, and even with the curly red hair that hovers over his forehead, Hank catches sight of his blue eyes. His thin lips are turned down, almost in a sneer. At himself? At Hank? At the situation?

Hank isn’t certain.

Not one word has passed between them since Hank entered the interrogation room, and the tension that clings to them grows with each second that goes by in dead silence.

Hank draws in a sigh. He has to get this going at some point. After all, the longer they sit here without saying anything, the longer Hank will have to stay at the precinct - and the longer Connor will be home alone.

He has to say  _ something. _

“Sir, we have reasonable suspicion to believe you’re behind the five recent murders of androids, specifically including an AP700, EM400, GJ500, JB300, and PL600 model, along with the most recent attack of an RK800 android,” Hank states.

His words are spoken even enough, said with much certainty and clarity to get straight to the point. However, his tone wavers as he says “RK800” - he clears his throat, shaking his head lightly to stop any dark memories before they get a chance to intrude.

The perp, however, seems to notice. He brings his head up, and his eyes pierce into Hank’s gaze. There’s a certain fire hidden there - one that almost seems mischievous, in an odd way.

“While you can't prove I had anything to do with the  _ other  _ murders, I confess. I did attack the RK800,” he begins, his words eerily calm. He then points a finger in Hank’s direction and adds, “Of course, you knew that already - you were there. There’s no point in lying from that one.”

Hank purses his lips together, not saying a word

“Is he, what? Your partner?” the perp prods, a sneer creeping up on his face in a twisted smile.

“I believe  _ I’m  _ the one asking the questions, asshole,” Hank snaps.

The perp seems unfazed by Hank’s threat. That wicked smile grows wider and wider in a way that causes Hank’s insides to churn, causes a dark pit to make home in his gut.

“You seem very upset,” the man states, blinking his eyes innocently despite the awful smile that’s evident on his lips. “I guess I’m not surprised - you  _ did  _ also seem upset back when the RK800 chased after me. What, are you two close? Is that it?”

Hank doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at the man, biting his lip and keeping his gaze as even as possible. 

_ Stay calm. Collected _ .

“Well, that's a shame,” the perp says, words almost coy in an eerie way as he shrugs and looks away.

Hank narrows his eyes, his scowl deepening.

“What?” Hank bites. “What’s a shame?”

The perp simply shrugs again. However, as he brings his eyes back, he then leans over the table as far as the short chain connecting his handcuffs to the table allows him. And as he leans forward, his icy eyes now never waver from Hank’s - not in the slightest.

“It’s a shame because when I wiped his memory, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now, I did a complete wipe.”

_ Complete wipe? _

“The fuck is that?” Hank snaps, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What, is there an incomplete wipe or some shit?”

The perp shrugs once more. “Yeah, technically, there is. You can choose to wipe an android’s memory from any two points in time, and you can even select certain memories to wipe for whatever needs you desire. With the RK800…I did a complete one while also using specific data input to block any potential rebound in memories.”

He leans even closer, and when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is low and deep.

“That way, the chance of memory recovering is almost next to nothing, regardless of deviancy.”

“So...So you know about that,” Hank begins, his words slow as if carefully chosen. “About how deviancy affects memory.”

The perp almost looks offended at that. “Of course I do. It was something Cyberlife realized as a flaw of deviancy once deviants started appearing everywhere. Just like how the trackers stop working, the memory wipes aren’t as efficient anymore. They can be reverted. Fixed. All because of their attachment to certain people, their friendships, and their roots of deviancy. But with a full wipe? It’s highly unlikely.”

That awful smile of his comes back at full force then, twisting in a way that makes Hank’s blood run cold.

“Even if you two are very close,” he sneers.

Hank bites his lip. He doenst know what to say. He doesn’t even know if he  _ should  _ say anything. A terrible dread is creeping in his gut, sending pang after pang of nausea throughout his body. A muffled anger pulses through his veins as well, one that he tries to suppress yet is failing badly in doing so. For all Hank can really focus on is how badly he wants to get up and punch the man in front of him, ruining his perfect little round face and wide smile that fails to falter. 

“Did I strike a nerve?” the perp pipes up, cocking his head innocently to the side. “You look a little pale.”

_ That’s fucking it. _

Hank jump up from his seat in a sudden rush, knocking it behind him. He races around to the perp’s side, wraps his fingers in his coller, and yanks the man out of his seat. The perp’s thin body is as light as a feather, and Hank has no issue raising him up with his feet hovering over the ground, the only restraining thing being his handcuffs which are locked to the table by a short chain.

“You little shit,” Hank growls, though the perp remains unaffected. He stares right back into Hank’s gaze without wavering, blue eyes colliding against blue eyes.

“You think you’re so fucking smart, huh? Hank continues, his voice laced with bitterness. “You think-“

“Hank!”

Hank falters, his hold on the perp lessening ever-so-slightly as he lowers him by an inch. He glances back towards the direction of his voice, eyes wide with question.

It’s Jeffrey, standing in the open doorway of the interrogation room.

“Jeffrey?” Hank asks, his brow furrowing. He didn’t even hear the door open, didn’t even  _ notice  _ the captain’s presence. “What’s going on?”

Hot anger flashes across Jeffrey’s face as he bites, “I’ve been getting non stop calls from some random number for the past five fucking minutes!”

“So?” Hank asks. “What’s that gotta do with me?”

Jeffrey raises his arm, revealing his hand which grips tightly onto his work phone - the kind Jeffrey uses to answer any calls directed towards the D.P.D.

“And when I finally answered, they said they need  _ you _ .”

Hank’s releases the perp fully then, and the man helplessly stumbles into his chair. Hank heeds him  no attention as he continues, “Me? But why didn’t they just call my-“

Hank feels his pants pocket for the familiar lump that would be his phone. Yet, he finds the area smooth. Empty.

_ Shit. _

He left his phone at home.

“I’ll tell Reed to come in and cover you while you answer,” Jeffrey says gruffly as Hank walks over, taking the phone from his hands. At that, the captain whips around on his heels and heads out the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Gavin appears within seconds, a scowl already evident on his face as Hank hands him the handcuffs’ keys.

“Been back for one day and you can’t even finish an interrogation,” Gavin snaps. He puts the keys in his jeans’ side pocket, where they dangle out in the open. “What, your plastic pet calling you or something?”

Hank narrows his eyes. “I don’t know who the fuck is calling me - can you just mind your own damn business for once?”

“Whatever,” Gavin scoffs as he moves to stand beside the perp still sitting silently in his chair. Gavin leans his body to the side, though his steel eyes never leave Hank’s.

Hank rolls his eyes as he exits the room, the door sliding to close behind him.

Now alone in the hallway, Hank goes to call back whatever number was trying to reach him. However, the very second he unlocks Jeffrey’s work phone, it begins to ring with an incoming call, presumably from whoever it was calling earlier.

Hank narrows his eyes, staring at the number. It takes him a second to realize that it’s not a  _ phone  _ number - it’s an android’s serial number. Hank’s seen this before whenever Connor used to contact him through his mind; after all, androids don’t need a phone number to call someone that way. Instead, their serial number is what contacts people instead. Hank’s gotten used to seeing  _ Incoming Call From #313 248 317 - 51  _ whenever Connor called him.

However, the number here now says  _ Incoming Call From #684 842 971 _ .

Curious, Hank answers the phone.

“Hello?”

_ “Lieutenant Anderson?”  _ the voice on the other end of the call says.

Hank’s eyebrows raise. That voice - he knows that voice. It sounds almost like…

“Markus? Is that you?” Hank asks.

_ “Yes, it's me,”  _ Markus says.  _ “I tried originally reaching your cell phone, but Connor then informed me that you left it at home. He said you were at the police department, so instead, I contacted the captain’s main work line.” _

“Yeah, you were bothering the fuck out of him, calling so many times,” Hank snaps. “What’re you even calling about, anyway? I’m in the middle of something, I can’t just-“

_ “I’m with Connor right now at New Jericho.” _

Hank’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes go wide in shock, confusion pouring through his mind.

“What?” Hank asks. A sudden gush of worry comes upon Hank, and he snaps, “What do you mean? He’s…He’s supposed to be at home!”

_ “He left,” Markus states, his words calm on the other line despite Hank’s risen tone. “Simon found him caught out in the storm. We took him to New Jericho - he’s in my room right now, changing into dry clothes.” _

“But...But why did he…” Hank’s words trail off, confusion drawing his brows together. He shakes his head to himself and then asks, “Well, is he okay?”

_ “He’s okay. Just a little overwhelmed, I think, with everything going on. But he wanted me to call you to pick him back up.” _

Hank’s features soften, and his tone lowers as well. “He did?”

_ “Yeah,”  _ Markus says.  _ “Though, you said you were busy, so I’m fine having him stay here until you’re ready - whatever works for you.” _

“No, don’t worry, I’m finishing up,” Hank says. “Tell Connor I’ll be over real soon, and I’ll meet him at New Jericho’s entrance. Okay?”

_ “Okay, I will.” _

Markus hangs up at that, and Hank is left alone in silence in the hallway. And as he continues to linger there, staring at the wall, the sad realization slaps him hard in the gut.

Connor  _ left _ .

Connor actually  _ left,  _ and Hank has no clue why.

Well, for no good reason, Hank’s almost certain.

Hank sighs, shutting his eyes and rubbing his forehead to ease the tension there. He leans against the wall and lets the sturdy surface hold him up, the rest of his body too fatigued to do so any longer.

At least Connor wants to come back.

And Hank holds onto that thread of hope, that thread of positivity, as tightly as he can for now.

He just hopes Connor-

“Oh, SHIT!”

Hank jars out of his thoughts at Gavin’s sudden yell. It booms loudly, coming from within the interrogation room. His eyes snap open, and he finds his footing once again as he jumps back from the wall as if fire was set to it. A loud thud follows almost immediately after the yell, and panic surges through Hank’s veins.

“What the…” Hank murmurs to himself, taking careful steps back. “What the fuc-“

The interrogation door slams open, cutting off Hank’s words. A rush of curly red hair and bright blue eyes comes upon Hank’s vision before sudden blackness - stark, rich blackness, along with a blossom of pain in his nose where fist connects with nasal bone. He feels the ground as his body collapses onto it, feels the chill of the tile, feels the distant echo of racing footsteps that pound, and pound, and pound.

“Oh, shit, oh, FUCK!”

Hank gradually blinks his eyes open at Gavin’s continuous yells behind him, wincing at the pain that the precinct’s harsh lights bring. With blurry vision, he watches as the perp races away, followed by swarming officers that jump into the action. He catches sight of Gavin trailing behind, a slight limp to his movements as if he, too, were injured. 

Hank moves to stand, though a wave of pain in his thigh - the one that was shot  _ and  _ the one he just landed on - quickly cuts off his movements. He groans as he falls back to the ground, though not yet given up, he tries to stand once again. This time, with more carefulness, he’s able to find his footing, though he wavers slightly as the room settles around him.

A sudden warmness drips down his chin. He brings his hand up to feel, and when he glances at his fingers to see, he finds them coated with crimson blood.

He must have a bloody nose, Hank realizes.

“Shit,” he mutters.

With a shake of his head, he jumps into action, trying to ignore the limp in his leg from the pain that aches in his thigh.

He’s gonna catch that motherfucker even if it kills him.

**_~~~_ **

The rain has mostly stopped now, though Connor can still feel the occasional raindrop as it drizzles on outside. The sky is still dark, however, and he assumes that this little break in heavy rain will be only temporary. He’s thankful for it now, though - he doesn’t want the clothes Markus lent him to get wet, and his old clothes that he holds tightly in his hands have just been dried, as well. He’d rather stay warm for now as he waits for the Lieutenant to arrive. Speaking of...

“Did the Lieutenant say when he was going to arrive?” Connor pipes up, looking to Markus beside him.

Markus shakes his head. “No, he just said it’d be soon.”

Connor nods. He can be patient, he knows. But yet…

He misses him. He misses him more than he understands. He doesn’t know why; but still, the desire to see him, to be in his presence, is as strong as ever, and it grows the longer they stand there. He wants to be on that couch again, to pet Sumo, to wear the Lieutenant’s hoodie and fall back asleep in the warmth of his bed. It all feels so right, it all feels so  _ safe  _ in a way that Connor can’t understand, can’t fathom  _ why. _

He just wants to go  _ home _ .

It’s been a long time waiting, though. Guilt is starting to creep up on Connor the longer they wait out here, the longer Markus has to stand beside Connor until the Lieutenant finally arrives. He knows Markus would probably much rather be inside with his friends - not standing out here in the rainy drizzle with Connor.

“Markus?”

Markus looks over at Connor, quirking a brow in question. “Yeah?”

“You can go inside, if you’d like,” Connor says. “I can be alone out here. You don’t have to wait with me.”

“Are you sure?” Markus asks. “I’m totally fine with waiting.”

Connor nods. “I’m sure.”

Markus looks at New Jericho’s front doors and then back out at the street in front of them that’s littered with puddles, his brow drawing together as he mulls the decision over in his mind. In the end, he simply sighs and meets Connor’s gaze. 

“Okay, well, just call me wirelessly if you need anything,” he says. 

“I will.”

Markus tosses Connor an easy, soft smile then, and with that, he spins on his heels and heads through the front door.

Connor peels his eyes away and looks back out the street. It’s peaceful out here - and as much as Connor wishes the Lieutenant would return, he’s alright being alone. He simply watches in silence as the autumn trees drip rainwater, as the sky rumbles occasionally overhead with warnings of the storm’s upcoming return, as the drizzle splatters raindrops in the puddles on the street before him, as the occasional rustle of branches occurs in the large bushes off to his far left due to the light wind.

However, it  _ is  _ a bit chilly out - and while Connor doesn’t technically need to keep his body warm, he does prefer the comfort heat brings. He looks at Lieutenant’s recently dried hoodie in his arms and decides to pull it back on. And once it is, he feels much better. Much safer. Much more secure.

Unfortunately, as he puts the hoodie on, the coin Simon had lent him earlier that he stored in the hoodie’s large front pocket topples out. It rolls across the sidewalk before coming to a halt in front of the bushes.

Connor inwardly berates himself for his carelessness and starts to head towards the coin and where it rests to a stop. The bushes are a fair distance from the front entrance, but they’re at least not  _ too  _ far. Connor can still see from here if the Lieutenant’s car arrives.

After a short little walk, he finally reaches the coin and bends down to pick it up. His fingers wrap around the coin, ready to pick it up, and then-

The bushes rustle loudly beside him.

Connor freezes in place, fingers locked around the coin. His head snaps to the side as his LED stutters a panicked yellow.

“Hello?” Connor calls. “Is someone there?”

Nothing answers him.

_ It must’ve been the wind again. _

Connor’s LED flickers back to blue as he goes back to picking up the coin. He lifts it off the sidewalk and goes to stand, putting the coin back in the hoodie’s front pocket for future safekeeping. He looks back towards the entrance of New Jericho and takes a step forward, ready to return before the Lieutenant arrives-

A sharp pinprick slices across his neck.

Connor stutters, the world around him wavering as glitches and alarms take over. Something jabs into his knees before he gets the chance to turn around, and he topples over, his body and head slamming atop the wet sidewalk. And before he gets the chance to turn his head around and see what’s going on, a hard weight presses against his body that flattens him completely against the ground.

_ Level of Stress _

**_Critical_ ** _   
_ **^94**

**!Warning! Damage to Neck** \-  _ synthetic skin on #0_necklower4 damaged beyond repair _

**!Notice! Neck Panel Opening** \-  _ lowering voltage power by 38% for safety measures… _

**_!Notice! Neck Port Opening_ ** \-  _ inserting USB #654nly2 _

**Initiating Firewalls From Unknown Intrusion...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Firewalls Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**!Notice! Unknown Data entering RK800 #313-248-317-51 systems**

**Initiating Firewalls From Unknown Data...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Firewalls Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**Data #549gh3 - Force Temporary Shutdown?**

**Selecting N by RK800 #313-248-317-51...**

**!Error!**

**!Error!**

**Selection Overridden by Unknown Intruder.**

**Selecting Y by Unknown Intruder...**

**Preparing Forced Temporary Shutdown…**

**...0%...**

**…28%...**

**...99%...**

**...100%...**

**All Systems Successfully Shut Down.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too bad connor dropped that coin :/
> 
> (come say hi on tumblr!! i’m beckkii there <3)


End file.
